


Kairos

by hanleiahothwars



Series: Journey to Togetherness [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanleiahothwars/pseuds/hanleiahothwars
Summary: KAIROS (n.) the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere; not just time, the exactly right time for a particular thing to happen. Han and Leia, on a slow flight to Bespin.





	1. Fantod, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: What follows is the Trip to Bespin story no one asked for, in which no sex takes place. If that's not your cup of tea, that's perfectly fine, but I wanted to prepare readers at the outset to avoid disappointment.
> 
> A few more warnings going in:
> 
> (1) In this story, Leia is a virgin. This is not a judgement on anyone else's 'Leia as not a virgin' take on things. My headcanon of this is due to her life circumstances and her personal priorities, something Leia herself will explain. Just know that Leia as a virgin is not for any moral or misogynistic reasons, or out of a desire to make any kind of statement.
> 
> (2) What happened between Han and Leia on the trip to Bespin, even how long the trip actually took, is something I go back and forth on. The general consensus nowadays seems to be that after "floating away with the garbage" Leia and Han relatively quickly fell into bed together and spent the rest of the journey very physically involved, if not yet expressing their feelings. This story isn't meant to say there's anything wrong with that interpretation, but because there are so few stories showing the potential flipside of things, I wanted to approach the trip a bit differently –– as an emotional catharsis rather than a physical one. I certainly think the Han/Leia dynamic changed drastically from Hoth to when they arrive at Bespin, and that change signals a major breakthrough in their relationship. What I'm presenting in this story is that the change was through involvement as a couple, yes, but that after everything Leia has been through she continues to hold something back because Han is still leaving her.
> 
> The Han and Leia we see in Bespin during the "you're as good as gone" exchange, as well as the fact that she hasn't yet told him she loves him, reveals a pair who are together but still in clear conflict over their future. That whole exchange, from the way it was said to their expressions, suggests to me this has been a repeated issue between them on the trip; this is certainly not the first time this disagreement is coming up. That will be the key theme of this story, as I don't believe it was something they did or could just entirely sweep under the rung. It will be explored throughout, including Leia struggling with the ramifications of her decision to hold back post-carbonite chamber.
> 
> (3) All of that is not to say they won't explore physicality. This story is rated M for that reason: sexual discussions that will occur, activities of a sexual nature they will be engaging in over time, adult language (of an English and GFFA variety), and because of their eventual consummation in post-Return of the Jedi epilogues.
> 
> (4) For a story set largely on the Millennium Falcon, here is my disclaimer: I frankly don't care what any of the "official" charts and diagrams for the unseen in the OT portions of the Falcon are. In my headcanon, somewhere on that ship there is a galley; as is his preference, Chewie sleeps in a hammock hung across one of the holds or smuggling compartments, alongside his own Wookiee-sized and properly modified fresher (the Falcon once was Lando's, and what are the odds that such an entertainer would only have one bathroom aboard his ship anyway?); there is a small two bunk crew quarters that leads into the captain's quarters, with a door in between (Lando would absolutely value his privacy, especially when bringing a romantic partner on board), and an attached private captain's fresher complete with real water shower, not merely sonic (again, because Lando would have believed in luxuries).
> 
> On with the story!

* * *

FANTOD

(n.) a state of extreme nervous tension; a sudden outpouring of intense emotion

* * *

 

It had been an eventful several hours since she’d run out of the circuitry bay.  Leia had been frightened by a mynock, discovered they were inside — then fled — a giant space slug, and realized the hyperdrive was still broken, apparently beyond anything they could fix.  Still, Han had, yet again, saved the day by brilliantly hiding the ship atop a Star Destroyer, allowing them to escape undetected.  They’d even managed to agree upon what to do next, deciding to head to Bespin for temporary refuge and repairs.

The first thing they’d done once clear of the fleet was begin to establish a plan for how to proceed with what would be an unplanned, lengthy journey.  They would finish what repairs they could along the way, taking turns on watch shifts to look out for Imperial complications while they were essentially sitting ducks, unable to jump to lightspeed and with no place to hide out in open space. 

Further thwarting them, the _Falcon’s_ long-distance communications system was out, leaving them unable to contact High Command.  Even if they could, with the ship’s encryption fried as well, it would be too dangerous to risk interception and reveal their location.  There was no alternative; their best hope was floating slowly through space toward an obscure mining colony owned and operated by Han’s gambler, Empire-hating ‘friend’, who they _maybe_ could trust, while totally cut off from the Rebellion or anyone else besides the beings on their immediate ship. 

In other circumstances, it could have been a rather cozy interlude.  Had it happened on the way to Ord Mantell, Leia might have even found it romantic.  Under their current conditions what it was, in a word, was _awkward_.  She didn’t know how she was going to survive the coming weeks cooped up with Han, with literally no escape.

And they had yet to address their kiss:  the fact that it had happened, why it had happened, and if it would happen again.

It was _going_ to come up; there was no way around that.  Leia didn’t know what she was going to say when it did.  She still hadn’t worked out for herself how she wanted to handle it.  She’d had only a little bit of time to think it over while brooding alone in the darkened cockpit, in a cave that wasn’t a cave.  After that, sheer survival once again became the priority and she’d never come to any satisfactory conclusion. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  The conclusion was obvious. 

Nothing had changed since Hoth, since he’d told her he was going on the way back from Ord Mantell.  If anything, the situation was worse now — Han was absolutely making good on his longstanding threat of leaving.  As soon as they could reach a friendly port, get the hyperdrive fixed and get her back to the Alliance, he was out of her life.  Gone. 

Moreover, in the weeks between that doomed mission and the Empire storming Echo Base, Han had been frequently impossible, culminating in him _insisting_ she was crazy about him and even announcing to Luke in his sickbed just how much she wanted him.  It didn’t matter that Han had been right; he _had_ hit too close to the mark, and that was what upset her.  It was still a scoundrel thing to do.

How was she to know that Han would _like_ it when she called him that to his face, consider it a flirtatious barb — maybe it _had_ been — and then use it to his advantage?

But that was the thing when it came to Han:  it wasn’t that difficult for him to play upon her weakened defenses when, now more than ever, her heart was fighting a battle with her head in the war of wanting him. 

Because there were all those things, all the reasons why she _shouldn’t_ want him….yet, on the other hand, he’d shown real bravery and skill navigating the asteroid field, and his quick thinking to float away with the Star Destroyer’s garbage had been ingenious.  Han had many laudable qualities; the truth was, he really was a good man underneath it all.

And he’d come back for her on Hoth.  That was a big one.  He was still looking out for her, _always_ looking out for her, even after everything.  Without a second thought, he’d put off his departure, risked his own life to fetch her from the Command Center.  She’d either be dead from a blast or a cave-in, or in the hands of the Empire right now had it not been for Han.  

And that kiss….

That kiss had been _everything_.

Between falling into his lap earlier and then the way he’d come up behind her in the circuitry bay, surrounding her with his heat and his scent and his essence, so distinctly _Han_ , she’d been jumpy and on edge.  She couldn’t handle having his arms around her — or rather, she didn’t trust herself to withstand them.  And that fight between ‘withstand’ and ‘surrender’ left her flustered and discombobulated. 

In the weeks since Ord Mantell, Leia had discovered that it was awfully difficult to put the rancor back in its cage once it had been set free.  Luckily, on Hoth, she’d largely been able to avoid Han, certainly avoid being _alone_ with him.  She knew that would not be the case while stranded together for a month on a relatively small ship.  In a way, this was like their post-crash shelter on Ord Mantell all over again — only, this time, played out in space with an audience of a droid and a Wookiee. 

It was all a very stressful position to be put in.  As a result, she hadn’t always behaved becomingly.  In both earlier instances, in Han’s lap in the cockpit and when he’d tried to help her in the circuitry bay, she’d lashed out at him undeservingly.  It was a defense mechanism.  What was she going to say?  _Please don’t touch me; I can’t trust myself if you do_?

It had been a mistake then, asking him to call her by her name; she’d known that right away as her eyes fell closed in frustration — at him, herself, the whole situation.  Her assertion that he made it so difficult sometimes was certainly accurate, though much more far-reaching than a few nicknames and smart remarks.  Han made it difficult not to find him attractive.  He made it difficult not to be drawn to him.  He made it difficult not to be distracted from the Rebellion and her drive to bring down Vader and the Empire.  He made it damn near impossible not to break her vow to herself never to love and lose again.

His request that she admit she sometimes thought him “all right” was a laughable understatement, soon verified when he took her injured hand in his.  It had been such a superficial injury — she’d only pinched the side of her finger a little — but Han had been concerned, as he always was with her injuries, no matter how small.  And at first that’s all she thought it would be; Han tending to her wound as they had with each other so many times in the field. 

But then he’d enjoyed her ‘scoundrel’ moniker for him — and with the way he looked at her, smiled at her when he told her as much, she knew she was in trouble.  That, and the way he’d begun tracing her fingers with his, rubbing the inside of her palm….

Such a simple touch shouldn’t have felt so _good_ , but it did. 

But it couldn’t.  And self-preservation had kicked in. 

Yet, she was running out of options for internal resistance.   All she’d had left was inventing feeble excuses for why he had to stop touching her that very instant, before she combusted.  Leave it to Han to see through her, zero in on the truth, feel the tremble he could so easily induce.

 _You like me_ because _I’m a scoundrel; there aren’t enough scoundrels in your life._

She’d weakly tried to deny it with a slight shake of her head, but if he’d been close to the mark before, he’d annihilated it then.

And when he spoke to her in that tone…..

She suspected he knew well what it did to her and that’s why he used it.  Han was nothing if not precise when piloting a risky course, and he’d handled her as expertly as he ever did the _Falcon_ , making her stomach swoop and her blood drop low before his mouth even touched hers.

They’d both known that any protest on her part, any demurring of liking “nice men”, was only for show; if she’d really wanted to get away she could have — he’d seen her take down a Kintan strider unarmed –– but she hadn’t moved an inch as his mouth drew inexorably closer to hers.

Leia had imagined their first kiss hundreds of ways over the years, but nothing could have prepared her for the charge of that initial touch of his mouth to hers.  He’d caught her mid-sentence, but her eyes had immediately fluttered closed, concentrating on the sensations he engendered, the way he nestled her lower lip between his _just so_ , sucking it gently with just the right amount of pressure.  She’d long been warned by her aunts that kissing was a “gateway”, but she’d never found that to be true herself.  Until then.  Until the tug of Han’s lips on hers set off a heat she could feel all the way through to her groin. 

The kiss had been short but sweet, ending with an audible pop.  It had taken them both a second for their eyes to even open to reality, and when they did neither was in any hurry to break contact.  Though they were technically no longer kissing, their noses still brushed, their lips mere breaths apart, still lingering in the sweetness of what they’d just experienced.  Then Han had leaned back enough to look at her, to give her a moment to react, a chance to object. 

Truth be told, he’d looked a little awed, which was exactly how she’d felt — and not even the whisper of an objection had been anywhere close to forming on her lips. 

Just the opposite; she’d breathlessly invited more.  _Okay, Hotshot._

That was all the encouragement Han had needed, diving back to her mouth as she wound her arm about his neck.  The way he’d held her, with his fingers curling into her shoulder blade, left the inside of his forearm brushing across the side of her breast, igniting currents of longing there, and she’d pushed her fingers up into that irresistibly scruffy hair of his, cradling the back of his head as if to keep his mouth pressed to hers eternally.

All right, she hadn’t exactly been subtle, but neither was his tongue — and if there had ever been a gateway to sex, his tongue was certainly it.  Kissing Han was like her first taste of flying, that first sip of Alderaanian wine, heady and intoxicating and easy to get lost in.  Even now, she honestly couldn’t say how long it would have gone on had Threepio not interrupted. 

Even as Han had pulled away to stop the metallic poking at his shoulder, she’d continued to cup the back of his neck, lingered at his lower lip, desperate to draw it out just a little more.  Her hand too had remained in midair where it had once been touching him, still aching to _be_ touching him, inadvertently grazing over his chest and shoulder as he’d turned to the droid. 

 _That_ woke her up.

It was a lot easier to think once contact was broken, to ask herself what the hell she was doing standing there eagerly kissing Han, still reaching out in hunger for him.  _Gods, you need to pull yourself together!_   She remembered that chastisement floating through her mind.  At just the thought, her hand had flown up to her hair, patting it back into place though her braids had remained immaculately pinned; it was reflex — save face, present a pristine, regal front. 

Watching Han a second longer as he listened to Threepio, her thoughts had been an endless chain of _what were you thinking, Leia; what were you doing; can’t we do it again?_.  She’d felt driven to both keep looking after him in dazed longing, and to run as fast and far as she could.  While Han was yet distracted, she’d hurried to do the latter.

And for the past two hours, Leia had been doing pretty much that:  running.  Or in this case, more like _hiding_ , but the principle was the same.  She’d holed up in the galley under the pretext of cataloging consumables for their journey. 

Almost as much as she’d needed to get away from Han, she’d needed the work.  Luke and Han forever got after her for “working yourself to death”, but work was distracting.  Work was calming, and she’d needed something to do with her hands and body, an outlet for her agitation while she tried to sort this all out. 

She _had_ to come to some decision, find some way to get through this unscathed and with her dignity intact; after all, this was only the very first night of a long journey.  But Han, unexplained kisses, and nighttime — even the artificial one of space — were a treacherous combination when she was still so unsettled, when Threepio was assigned to permanent overnight watch, and when Chewie was already asleep in his hammock.  That meant her and Han, alone all night, left to their own devices, with only a small door easily palmed open between them, and three bunks readily available nearby.

So, yes, Leia was hiding in the galley, thankful that he hadn’t yet found her — but certain he _would_ come looking.  And Force knew there were only so many places to hide on this ship.  It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out.

“Thought I might find you here,” Han’s voice came from behind her.

 _Speak of the devil._   Still, he’d surprised her, and Leia jumped while returning a carton of bantha cream to the chiller.  “I’ve been doing an inventory of provisions.”

“Don’t need to.  We got lucky; the _Falcon_ was stocked with consumables when the Empire decided to attack.  Me and Chewie always load up the full two months’ worth whenever we’re headin’ off-planet.”

Mention of him “heading off-planet” — that is, abandoning her — left Leia feeling prickly, and her subsequent answer was delivered in a snappish tone.  “Yes, well, it never hurts to be thorough.”

“Maybe.”  Han shrugged.  “Not much we can do about it out here, though, if we did have a couple less cans of nerf steak stew than the logs say, or were off by a few ration bars.”

She seized on this.  “But there _is_ something we can do:  develop a system of rations.  Do you think that’s likely?  That the logs are off?  Because if they are, then we need to—”

“The logs are fine, Sweetheart; got plenty of food to make it to Bespin.”  He shook his head, dismissing her evasive attempt.  “What I think is this ain’t about the logs at all.  This is about you avoidin’ me.”

Leia’s consequent huff of air, bordering on a scoff, dismissed the very suggestion as absurd.  “And why would I be doing that?” she countered, but used the excuse of putting back a jar of tok nut butter to turn away from him.

“Right.”  His face clouded over, some of that exasperation from the halls of Echo Base back in his voice.  “ _That’s_ how you’re gonna play this.”

If he was going to use his Hoth tone, then so was she.  _Ice Princess demeanor it is._   As she swiveled to face him, Leia straightened her shoulders and lengthened her spine, taking on her full regal bearing once reserved for Senate debates.  “I’m not ‘playing’ at anything.”

That holier-than-thou tone chafed less than the fact that she was _still_ trying this with him.  “Please,” Han mocked bitterly, “you’re the master of the game.”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’m simply seeing to our supplies,” Leia continued to insist.  She turned her back to him again, moving aside a canister of dried jogan fruit to make room in the cupboard for a jar of Ansionian tea.

A silent dismissal.  A congenial one, but a dismissal all the same, and it rankled Han.  “So that’s really how it’s gonna be for the next four weeks?  You’re gonna act like it never happened?  Act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, just like back on Hoth?”

Leia didn’t say anything to that.  What _could_ she say now?  She couldn’t very well go on claiming that any thought of her wanting him to stay for her — to be _with_ her — was only in his imagination.  Not after what happened in the circuitry bay, after she’d not only returned his kiss but gone back in for more.

At her loaded silence, Han heaved a sigh of frustration.  “I’m too tired for this, Leia.  Aren’t you _tired_?”

There was something bordering on desperation in his tone that made her stop what she was doing and turn back around, made her feel compelled to answer honestly, to at least give him _that_ much, but fear continued to hold her back.  “I…We don’t have to go through consumables now.  We can even take a break from repairs for a bit.  It’s not as if we don’t have the time.”

“Princess, you were a teenage senator, the youngest ever, and runnin’ a rebellion not long after.  That brain of yours is whip-smart.  I’ve seen it in action for years on missions with you.  Working closely.  Sometimes _very_ closely,” he added with a suggestively lifted brow that called to mind their last mission together.  “So I know _you_ know that’s not what I mean.” 

“If you think this is some ploy to get you to join the Alliance….”

“Aw, c’mon.”  He tsked his tongue in disappointment.  “You can do better.  We both know _that’s_ not what I meant, either.”

Now Leia was the one to get frustrated.  Frustrated that he wouldn’t just let things be; frustrated that he had to keep _pushing_ her; frustrated that he seemed compelled to make her admit things, things that she was freely ready to divulge before, but now everything had changed and it wasn’t fair of him not to concede the difference.  “What — what do you expect me to — What do you want from me, Han?  You’re _leaving_.  You’re always leaving.”  Her indignance grew at this issue, a long-standing bone of contention she could really sink her teeth into.  “You’ve been threatening that from the moment I met you.  You’ve always had one foot out of the door.”

“Have I?” Han countered just as indignantly, not giving an inch, either figuratively or literally as they stood nearly toe-to-toe in the galley.  “Then why am I here, years later?  If I’m always leavin’, if I’m only in it for the money—”

“ _You_ said that, not me!”

“—if that’s what I’m after,” he continued around her interruption, “and I’m _still_ hanging around, more than three years later?  That’d make me a damn poor mercenary, wouldn’t it?” 

“ _You’re_ the one who — every chance you got,” Leia fumed, stomping her little boot in a way Han tried not to find attractive, “you’re the one who claimed to be leaving!  So you don’t get to be outraged if I made that assumption.  Not even ‘assumption’, because you outright _said_ it!”

Okay, so she had a point.  But he had one, too — something like, if she really _wanted_ to see the pretense for what it was, she could have; hells, all of Hoth had.  “And I’m supposed to believe you could survive the Galactic Senate but you couldn’t see through that bluff?  No one sticks around that long, Sweetheart, who actually plans on leaving.  And when’s the last time you heard me say it before last month?”  Before Ord Mantell forced him to change his mind.  “....Been a while, huh?  _I’m_. _still_. _here!_ ” he emphasized; to him, that meant everything, and he couldn’t understand why she refused to see it.

“You’re here because the Empire attacked Hoth,” she refuted.  “That’s the _only_ reason you’re here now.  By total chance and circumstances beyond your control.  The Empire and a broken hyperdrive are why you’re here.  If it were up to you, you would have already dropped me off with the Alliance and been on your way.”

“Yeah, I would have,” Han frankly granted.  “But only because of that bounty hunter.  Only because I had no other choice.”  As he went on, defensiveness, even a touch of guilt, crept into his usually unflappable demeanor.  “What did you want me to do?  Stick around and wait for another bounty hunter to capture you?  Do you think I’m gonna let that happen?  You think I’m that heartless?  Kest, if I was heartless that’s exactly what I _would_ do.”

That accusation deflated some of her anger, taking the bite out of Leia’s words.  “I never said you were heartless.  I don’t think you’re heartless, Han.”  Her eyes softened as she brought them up to meet his.  “So you really would have stayed and officially joined the Alliance?”

He wasn’t sure if it was the righteously hopeful tone of her voice, or just the fact that, predictably, that was the one and only thing she’d honed in on of everything he’d said — like a broken holorecorder that keeps playing back the same thing over and over again — but Han had just had _enough_. 

“Kriff, Leia, this ain’t about the Alliance!  Not everything is about the Alliance!  It’s not about the Rebellion, the war, High Command, any of it.  This is about _you and me_ ,” he said, moving still closer to her in a way that left Leia feeling flustered again, only without the excuse of dirty hands to fall back on.  “This is about what’s happening between us, and you pretendin’ it’s not.  What do I want from you?” he asked incredulously.  “I want you to _talk_ about that.  I want you to deal with _that_.” 


	2. Fantod, Part 2

‘Dealing with it’ wasn’t exactly Leia’s forte, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.  Yet, she sensed it; fairly humming beneath the surface, inevitable and as alive and buzzing as the blood flowing through her veins:  the confrontation a long time coming, a conversation she’d spent years skillfully avoiding.  Now, she knew, time had run out.  They had passed a point of no return.  She would have to face it, face it all, and she didn’t know which confrontation was more daunting:  with Han, or with herself.

Either way, it was unstoppable now. 

She felt it thrumming to a fever-pitch, pulsating between them — all the frustrations and fears, confusions and longings, hopes and hurts woven into every fight they’d ever had over the past three years.  _All_ of it, building and building to a dangerous level, long overdue for release and only compounded by the events on and aftermath of Ord Mantell.  Ord Mantell, which electrified and devastated them both in equal measure.  Now all those pent-up emotions were ready to explode violently enough to give even Mustafar a run for its money — and if she wasn’t careful she’d be taken down by the violence of the eruption.

For years, Leia had fought against what she felt for Han for a variety of reasons, chief among them fear:  fear of wanting something, needing someone, loving someone again only to lose them.  And it didn’t help that Han was who he was:  smuggler, mercenary, keeping himself carefully uncommitted to the cause — to her — making it quite clear he was transient, fleeting, just a temporary presence in their lives. 

Long before she admitted to herself that she was in love with him, even before she’d let herself acknowledge that she wanted him, she’d had the secret hope of converting Han to the cause, legally contracting him to the Alliance — and, by proxy, to herself — as a means of ensuring that he be _more_ than just temporary.  It was a longshot, to be sure.  In some ways, even more so than Luke’s fateful shot.  But she’d always believed that if she could only somehow convince Han then that would be it:  he would stay; he would be hers.

So when Han told her before they left on their mission to Ord Mantell that he _was_ staying, he was finally committing, he handed her something so deeply wanted, so _longed_ for.  And coming from the man who swore he’d never be tied down, never care about anything more than his own interests, well, they’d both known it signified.  To Leia’s mind, it obliterated the final thing standing between them, placed that last piece of the puzzle that made it possible for her to go from helplessly wanting him to letting herself have him.  Because, knowingly or not, Han had spent three years proving that he _was_ a good man who _did_ care — and with him blessedly agreeing to stay, he’d be a permanent part of her life, which made it okay, safe, to finally let go with him.

It had never once occurred to her in this dream scenario of Han committing that he would ever still just walk away.  In fantasy and in reality, she was _certain_ that if Han ever got to that point of officially joining the Alliance, essentially going all-in, that meant it was it for _him_ , too; he would never make such a commitment otherwise.  Nothing in life was guaranteed, especially while they were at war.  There was still the Empire, Vader, the Emperor, a millions’ strong stormtrooper army — and, yes, Han’s past criminal ties — that could pose a threat.  Any of those things could still take him away, but Leia was positive that Han finally accepting a commission meant that _he_ was the one person she no longer had to worry about. 

Such surety, such misplaced faith left her blindsided after Ord Mantell, after Han announced he was revoking his promise, resending his commitment and voluntarily leaving.  It had felt like such a deep, deep betrayal of trust — especially after what had nearly happened between them. 

In the weeks since then, it had crossed Leia’s mind that perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair.  After all, Han had made no promises to _her_ , verbal or otherwise.  She had felt them implied in his commitment to the Alliance, but maybe that was her fault, her mistake.  Maybe she had read too much into things, created false hopes for herself and set up her own disappointment. 

Maybe she had and maybe she hadn’t, but the effect was the same:  she was left deeply hurt, and feeling foolish and angry with herself for trusting, for _feeling_ , for allowing herself to place so much stock in someone else, for leaving herself vulnerable, opening herself up to that pain.  So she rebuilt the walls that Han had broken through since Alderaan.  She shut herself back down — and hard. 

Reversing that process was not nearly as easy as Han seemed to think.  Learning to trust again, hope again, feel again, live again, be secure again after losing everything had been excruciating.  Needing to do so all over again a second time felt damn near impossible when Han’s leaving was no longer just a fear but a guarantee. 

No matter how much she wanted to, how could she start something with him under such conditions?  She would be a fool to try.  So Leia kept her jaw clamped tight and _didn’t_ talk about what Han so desperately wanted her to address.  To be entirely safe, she didn’t talk at all.

What she failed to consider was that she wasn’t the only one left reeling by the consequences of Ord Mantell.  For Leia, it was every fear coming to fruition, and it tremendously complicated an already fraught situation.  But for Han, it was an equally shattering experience.  After making such a long coveted breakthrough, after coming so very close to everything he’d yearned for longer than he could even say, to watch Leia slip back into total denial was unbelievable and almost unbearable.  He’d spent the weeks since Ord Mantell trying everything he knew to get her to at least acknowledge what had happened and why she was really upset with him, but to no avail.

Even now, when he was laying out his cards, no longer skirting the issue but asking her pointblank, it appeared she was going to continue to give him nothing, and Han just wasn’t having it anymore.

“Still,” he said, disappointment laced with astonishment dripping from the word.  “Still nothing?”  He waited a moment, and when no response came, plunged ahead.  “Alright, Worship.  Let me refresh your memory:  we were in the circuity bay, you hurt your hand, I took it in mine, you were trembling, you—”

“My memory’s just fine, Han,” she cut him off before he could go into further detail, before he could list any other things she was, all the other ways she’d responded to him like a live wire.  “Okay.”  Instinctively, her eyes darted uncomfortably down, but she forced them back up because she was Princess Leia Organa, dammit, and she wasn’t cowering from this any more than she had from Vader.  “It happened.  You kissed me.”

His heart lit up with a surge of pure joy at even that small victory.  Ridiculous, he knew, but how long had he lived for even the smallest scraps from her?  Having her finally own up that something _had_ happened between them was hard-won and felt monumental, though he was aware it was the smallest hurdle to get over.  This next one would be the true mountain to climb.  “I did.”  Han dropped his hands to his waist, hooking his thumbs in his belt and capturing her gaze challengingly.  “You kissed me back.”

There was that deep baritone that did things to her — bad or good, Leia wasn’t yet sure, but it certainly did them.  Yet, she didn’t look away.  She was through backing down.  “I did.”

His eyes held hers intently.  Everything came down to her answer to this next question; an answer Han already knew, but would she deny it or finally let herself own it?  “ _Why_?”

Leia was caught off guard, truly not expecting that response from him.  She chided herself for not seeing it coming and therefore not being prepared, leaving herself momentarily unready to outmaneuver her opponent, but she really had thought he’d be satisfied with her admission of active participation.  She’d expected gloating, not a further pressing for additional declarations.  “Well….” she began evasively, buying for time while she came up with a counterargument.  “….Well, _you_ kissed _me_ first.  Why did you kiss me?”

There was no evasion in his reply; it came quick as a blaster bolt.  “‘Cos I wanted to,” Han freely acknowledged.  “I’ve been wanting to for three years; haven’t made a secret of that.  _I want you_ , Leia.”  He pointed an emphatic finger at her before she could even start.  “And _not_ just in my bunk.”

With that excuse heartily dismissed and unable to come up with another on the spot, her mouth snapped shut, her eyes awash in conflicted vacillation.

“I want you,” Han continued, running with this momentum, “but I want you to want me, too.  I can’t take any more of this runnin’ away, evasive maneuvers, actin’ like it’s all me, like your lips just accidentally collided with mine.  How long is this gonna go on?  How many more years?  What’s it gonna take to get you to say it?”  It was ludicrous to even still need this conversation when she was so far beyond plausible deniability at this point.  “Why _not_ just say it?  You can’t pretend anymore that you don’t want me.  Not after that kiss.  Not after Ord Mantell.  It’s too late for that.  You took your hair down for me.  You let me touch you, Leia.  You had to know where that would lead.  So why don’t we stop pretending there’s nothing between us?  Better yet, why don’t we do somethin’ about it?”

Suddenly, Leia felt like a woman drowning, utterly unprepared to deal with the depth of this.  Hadn’t that been why she’d run away, both immediately following their kissing and again now that they were safely away and able to address it?  A riptide of looming emotions — both hers and his — threatened to take her down, and she could either swim uselessly against the force of it or, once and for all, let go, _let_ herself be swept away.

She remained silent but Han could see her struggling with it, literally see it in the array of feelings that sparked in her eyes.  Desire, uncertainty, longing, fear, need; they were all there, evidence of an internal war visible on her face.  “You can say it, Leia,” he encouraged gently.  “Tell me.  It’s just me.”  But still, she hesitated, and the most obvious reason taunted him.  “Are you still too mad at me about Ord Mantell to see straight?”

“I was never mad,” she finally spoke — quietly, and with what seemed to him like a boldfaced lie, but at least she was speaking again.

Han counted it as progress, though he couldn’t help calling her on her denial.  “You did a damn good job of pretendin’ at it, then.  I’m not blamin’ you, Leia.  Ord Mantell was messed up, and for so many reasons and ways, that was _my_ fault; I accept that.  But I’m—”

“I wasn’t angry,” Leia asserted again.  “Not really.  I was —”  She bit her lip, deliberating admitting this weakness.  “Han, I was _hurt_.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.  So sorry, Princess.” 

She read deep regret in his eyes, pain for her pain, and she knew he meant it. 

“But, after everything, you gotta know I’d never intentionally hurt you,” Han said in a way that came out far closer to pleading than actual statement of fact.  “I know what it must’ve looked like afterwards, but I swear I wasn’t just sayin’ that stuff to get you to—”

“I know,” she quickly cut him off, unable to bear hearing him voice it aloud, not when she could so strongly sense his very real fear that she thought that little of him.

“I meant it.  All of it, Leia.  I would have stayed.  I had all that time.”  For her, for a sense of belonging and family — and then, yeah, for the Rebellion, too; he’d loved to see the Empire brought down, like to be a part of that himself.  “I really was gonna join up.”

“I know,” Leia nodded, “I do.  I never — ”  Well, maybe in a few uncharitable moments after he first told her he was leaving, but she never _truly_ thought it.  Han vowed to join the Alliance before they even left on their mission; he had no way of knowing how things would turn out, that they’d end up naked together in the ocean, that _she_ would be the one to issue the invitation they both knew the taking down of her hair to be.  Besides, if he was going to pretend to join the Alliance just to get her to have sex with him, he could have tried that years ago.  “I don’t think you lied to me.  I don’t think it was all a gambit to get me into bed without any real intention of staying.  I believe you meant it.  And I believe it was the bounty hunter that changed your mind.”

It was his audible sigh of earnest relief that got her, that pierced through her defenses and made the rest come tumbling out.  “But I don’t care about the bounty hunter, Han; fuck the bounty hunter.  So he tried to hurt me?  Every day there are countless beings trying to hurt me.  We all have bounties on our heads.  Risk goes along with the territory.  We both know it, and you know that I’m okay with that.  What I’m not okay with is you making decisions _for_ me, leaving me out of choices that directly impact me, giving me no say or determination in what is and isn’t an acceptable risk for me.  You robbed me of autonomy more swiftly and surely than Dodonna has ever managed to.”  Moreover, his logic made no sense:  he’d leave to avoid inadvertently hurting her, but in doing so he _was_ hurting her far more than any physical wound could. 

“You shouldn’t have to leave at all.  Because _I’m_ deciding what’s best for me,” Leia boldly declared.  “It’s my choice to make, and I’m willing to take on whatever risk comes with association — in the same way that you’ve taken on the risk that comes with associating with the Alliance, with _me_.”  Now that he had started this, there was no going back; she was putting it all out on the table.  “And even if you do have to leave to take care of things with Jabba, why can’t I be a part of it?  Why can’t I help you?  Why can’t we do this _together_ , like every other mission we’ve been on?  You alone do the caring and protecting, is that it?  Because, if so, I’m not interested in something so one-sided.”  Her eyes flashed hurt as she told him, “I thought you would know by now that I’m not so fragile.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile.”  Han blew out a breath of frustration; she wasn’t giving an inch, but neither was he.  “Shit, Princess, you’re way stronger than me.  But this _isn’t_ another mission.  This is –– you don’t fuckin’ deserve to have to — These are _my_ mistakes,” Han asserted, pounding a fist against his chest, reliving all the disgust with himself in those moments he saw Leia lying there unconscious and bleeding because of him.  “My bad choices from before we even met.  I can’t let that stuff hurt you.”

“Then what about me?” Leia countered.  “What about Alderaan?  _That_ was before I met you.”

She was trying to be tough but he could hear the pain still present in her voice at the very mention of her lost world, and it tore him apart in the way it always did, in a way that made him want to protect her from anything that might make her life less than perfect for all the rest of it.  “Not the same,” he shook his head, adamant.  “Not the same at all.  That wasn’t your _fault_.”

“But it’s still affected you.  Going by your logic, you should never have to help me with it.”  Her tone softened unconsciously as she thought of random missions, broken nights when he held her, soothed her through the nightmares, through reliving the loss over and over again.  “You should never have to comfort me, never try to reassure me.  Because it’s mine alone to deal with, from before I met you, and you shouldn’t be burdened with it.”

“No, I — That’s not what I mean.”  Han ran a hand through his hair, perturbed, sensing a trap yet unable to comprehend how she could even begin to equate his sorry ass dropping a load of spice with the total obliteration of everything and everyone she loved.  “Leia, it’s _not_ the same.  This ain’t an emotional burden.  It’s not about helping someone you ––”  At the last second, he diverted from ‘love’ to say, “— someone you care about go through somethin’ hard.  I’ll always be there for you, for that or anything else.  But this is — kriff, this is life or death, Leia.  Not even just death; death would be kinder.  Do you have any idea what they would do to you?” he asked, his voice breaking at the end but he was too far gone in dread and terror at the prospect to properly care.  “ _I_ do, and I’m not lettin’ that happen.  You can hate me for it, but I’m not.  _That’s_ why I have to go.  Not because I’m fickle; not because I’m tryin’ to run out; not because I think you’re fragile and can’t handle yourself; and not because I want to make decisions for you.  Just because I want to see you _alive_ and unhurt.  And I don’t think you can fault me for that; I think you’d want the same for me.  So you avoidin’ and pretendin’ there’s nothing here?”  He gestured between them.  “It can’t be about that, ‘cos I’ve done nothin’ wrong in that.  So what is it, Princess?  Why can’t you just tell me?” 

“I’m not — You make it sound so simple; it’s not that _simple_ ,” Leia protested.

“Why isn’t it?” he dismissed.  “It _can_ be, if you let it.  Do you want me to say it first?  Is that it?  Alright.  You win.  I’ll say it first:  I have feelings for you, Leia.  For you, and no one else.  I wanna hold you and kiss you.  I wanna bring you your mug of caf just the way you like it.  I _want_ to talk you through your nightmares.  I want to be right at your side while you kick Imperial ass, and I want you there with me while we clean out the Rogues at sabaac — hells, we could half fund the Alliance a new X-wing with the winnings from their _Kiss or Kill_ bets.  For the first time in my life, I want to —”  Han shook his head, unable to yet articulate the full breadth of all he felt and wanted with her.  “Leia, I want to start somethin’ with you.  I want to _share_ somethin’ with you, somethin’ even bigger than all this craziness around us.”

With eyes misted over and her breath caught somewhere in her throat, Leia took the remaining steps towards him, her heart seemingly with a mind of its own — and it wanted all those same things just as desperately.  “Han, I—”

He put his hands to her upper arms, abruptly stopping her, though it would be so much easier to just let them melt together, yet not at all easier when she ran away again.  “But I need you to say it.  It can’t all just be me.  I’ve told you want I want, how I feel.  Now if you want it, too, you’ve got to _say_ it.  I’ve got to hear it; I need that much,” was his gruff request.

She opened her mouth, even took a deep breath to speak, but found the words stalled on her tongue.  Something inside her _still_ wouldn’t — couldn’t — let her guard down the rest of the way.

A new, more demoralizing thought occurred to Han, and he slowly nodded.  “Or maybe the problem ain’t Ord Mantell.  Maybe the problem is that you want me but you _don’t_ have feelings for me, not to want all that.”

There was obvious hurt in his words though he attempted to disguise it, and it pained her in return, twisting at that something in Leia’s heart, loosening that fearful thing that kept her from speaking it all, everything Han wanted so badly to hear. 

“Hey, I get it,” he continued, trying at blasé bluster.  “I been around the block.  I’ve—”

“Nerfherder, _of course_ I have feelings for you,” she blurted out.

Han’s eyes shot to Leia’s; for a moment, his expression totally unguarded, caught somewhere between shock, disbelief, and elation.

“If I didn’t have feelings for you, I never would have….Ord Mantell never would have happened,” she confessed, her voice wavering a little in strength at the mention of that beautiful island and the devastating, disheartening aftermath.

At the time, the very fact of what was occurring on Ord Mantell was enough of a confirmation for Han, but now to hear it in actual, glorious, long-desired words brought the twitch of a half-smirk of unfettered joy to his lips.  “You have feelings for me?”

In emotionally uncharted terrain, Leia smiled shyly, a becoming blush tinting her cheeks.  “Yes.”

“Well — well, good.  That’s fuckin’ _fantastic_!”  He slid his arm across her shoulders and tucked her close into his side, like back in Hoth’s medbay with Luke.  Only, this time, she didn’t pull away.  This time, she tentatively slipped her arm around the front of his waist and let her cheek press to his chest as he held her. 

At the gesture, Han brought his free hand up, cradling her head to him, never wanting to let her go — all the more so when at the start of this very same day he thought he’d have to for good.  “‘Cos I got a whole lot of feelings for you,” he told her, nuzzling his jaw into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to set her chin to his chest and smile brilliantly up at him.  “You do — ‘a whole lot’?”

“God, _yes,_ I do.”  Han squeezed her happily tighter.  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell _me_?” she laughingly riposted. 

He shook his head ruefully.  “‘Cos I’m an idiot.” 

Han bent down to kiss her, but suddenly Leia stiffened in his arms and put her hand on his shoulder to stop him.  “Wait.

He looked down at her questioningly, his arms falling from around her.  Was this the molator dropping on a reality that seemed too good to be true?

“I never told you because —”  Leia faltered in her admission, but she _did_ trust Han, in spite of what had happened and the way things had been between them recently.  He’d been honest with her and she owed him as much, difficult as it may be.  “I never told you because I’m scared, Han.”

From her earliest memories, she was being prepared for a life under public scrutiny; it came with the territory of being a princess.  When she grew older, that preparation only intensified as she chose a career even further in the public eye, one that required always being strong, self-assured, and unrelenting — or at least projecting that appearance — and all the more so while she was simultaneously doing secret work for the Rebellion.  It didn’t take long for it to become deeply ingrained in Leia that, beyond the safe confines of her family and friends, feelings could be interpreted as weakness and certainly exploited as such.  It left her at somewhat of a crippling disadvantage when it came to having or even seeking romantic relationships, a fact that exponentially intensified after all that had happened to her since.

“I don’t know how to do…this,” she expressed uneasily, gesturing between the two of them.  “And when I feel outside of my depth, it makes me uncomfortable.  I don’t do vulnerable well; you know that about me.  I’ve _never_ done vulnerable well.  It’s not an easy thing to leave myself exposed.  And after —” 

She still didn’t like to talk about it, particularly its affect upon her, but all that loss was so tied up in _why_ she’d fought her feelings for Han this long that Leia couldn’t talk about one without the other.  “After Alderaan….”  After she’d so cruelly lost her family, friends, and home planet — lost every sense of safety and comfort — ‘exposed’ became only a portion of her worries.  After Alderaan, feelings became downright dangerous things, leading to nothing but pain, pain, and more pain.  “After that, it’s only gotten worse.”  And regardless of what he said, his leaving _did_ matter.  “There’s a lot of risk involved in caring, Han, in _feeling_ at all.”

“I know, Sweetheart.”  He brought his arm around her upper back and drew her back against him.  Bending one leg to bring himself down closer to her level, Han leaned in and brushed his lips across her temple.  “I don’t do vulnerable well, either.  Hells, before you I didn’t do vulnerable at all.”

“So what are we doing then?” Leia asked quietly, trepidation plain in her voice.  “Are we crazy to even consider this — whatever ‘this’ is?”

“Nah, we’re not crazy,” he reassured her while his fingertips ran feather-light paths up and down her back that set off tingles even through her snowsuit.  “The crazy thing would be to do nothin’ about it.  And think of it this way,” he said, his chin continuing to nuzzle her — he couldn’t seem to stop; now that he’d been granted such permission, he was as bad as a purring Loth-cat in heat, “maybe if two people _both_ gotta be vulnerable with each other, then neither one of ‘em actually is.”

Han felt her sigh more than actually heard it, a pleasant alleviation, a release of tension in her frame.  A second later, she drew back to look up at him, a smile dancing in her eyes.  “You _do_ have your moments,” she granted, adding mockingly, “And that, oddly, even makes a bit of sense.”

“You’re not the only one who’s whip-smart,” he grinned.  “So what do you say we _finally_ do this?  Take things a day at a time, and go on as before — well, before Ord Mantel, preferably to a time when you didn’t want to kill me,” he smirked.  “Only now, no more pretendin’.  We go with what we feel, when we feel it, and just….let it happen.”

“Slowly,” Leia amended, meeting his gaze with a careful one of her own.

Though three years already seemed plenty slow to Han, he readily nodded.  “Yeah, whatever you say, Princess.” 

She gave him a skeptically raised brow. 

“No, I mean it.  Honest.  Slow and natural.”  As slow as she needed, and he knew that _would_ be slow.  Leia was like a guarlara that was easily spooked, and as ready as he was to take her to bed this very instant, he would do anything to keep seeing her smiling eyes, for just the chance to experience an unfolding — however gradual — of a new kind of closeness and intimacy with her. 

To Leia, Han looked adorably hopefully as he asked, “Do you think we can do that?”

She pretended to consider it for half a second before breaking into a glorious grin.  “We blew up the Death Star.  Hell yeah, we can do it.”

In that moment, though Han would have sworn it impossible, he fell in love with her a little bit more.  Reaching up, he cupped her face, his thumb rubbing a gentle, reverent trail over the silken skin of her cheek.

“So you kind of have a thing for me, huh?” Leia said unexpectedly, flirtatious and teasing, her eyes sparkling with it.

Correction, he fell even _more_ besides as she looked up at him all kittenish and playful and coyly enticing.  Once upon a time, he would have turned it around on her:  _You’ve got a thing for_ me _, Princess, and don’t you forget it._   Or played it off with a dirty quip about the ‘thing’ he had and just how much he’d love to give it to her.  But right now he was a man in love, with all the euphoria of having his feelings returned.  He felt too good, too happy, damn near bursting with joy, so he just owned it.  “Yeah, I got a thing for you, Sweetheart.  Figure it’s about as big as this galaxy.”

“Hmm, as big as the galaxy, you say?  That’ll do, then.  Because the thing I have for you, Han Solo, is at least the size of the Anoat sector.”  She leaned up to him on tip-toes and lifted her chin, offering her lips, her eyes drifting down to his mouth in delicious anticipation.

And Han, orphaned bastard of the roughest part of Corellia, knew he had never had a finer offer in his life, couldn’t wait to take her up on it.

This kiss between them was different; softer, sweeter.  This kiss was absent the heated, dizzying, passionate desperation of their first two kisses.  This kiss was more careful and contained, but it was warm, tender, and full of affection.  Different but equally enjoyable, and Leia thought there would be no better way to spend the next four weeks than cataloging every sort of kiss they could have. 

When they slowly broke apart, Han slid his hand from her braids to her neck and looked down at her with love and mischief in his eyes.  “ _Only_ the Anoat sector?  I was hoping for Greater Javin.  Maybe even the whole Outer Rim.  I mean, I did compare mine to the entire galaxy,” he teased over her giggle that further swelled his heart.  “But Anoat’s a start.  I can work with Anoat.”

Through laughter, Leia replied, “Shut up and kiss me some more, Flyboy.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he sighed, bending down to do just that.

 


	3. Lovestruck, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters (really just two parts of the same thing) represent some lightness and a much needed levity after their recent emotional confrontation, and the overall exhaustive emotional weight Han and Leia have been dealing with since Ord Mantell.

* * *

Lovestruck

(adj.) experiencing intense romantic feelings; infatuated and besotted; powerfully affected by the sudden awakening of deep love

* * *

With the dilemma of their kiss and the larger impasse of their undisclosed feelings for one another addressed, it freed Han and Leia to tackle the minutia of an unanticipatedly lengthy space voyage.  She was fortunate that as a regular traveler on the _Millennium Falcon_ — Han’s piloting services and presence universally assumed on her missions at this point — she’d taken to keeping a small convenience kit on board.  It was easier than continually carting little things back and for, and it sometimes proved a necessity when the ship had to be diverted, return dates were delayed, or other emergencies occurred. 

The presence of her kit already made things simpler, but it contained only the basics for hygiene and presentability.  An unplanned multi-week voyage could still have meant other female difficulties, but here Leia was fortunate, too.  Though it wasn’t luck but careful planning she had to thank; since she’d joined the Rebellion full-time after the Battle of Yavin, she’d opted to receive a contraceptive implant.  At the time, birth control was far from a concern of hers — although as a female in wartime all gruesome possibilities had to be considered should she fall into enemy hands — but the implant had the happy bonus of halting a woman’s cycle, a monumental benefit when she was frequently running for her life, with zero conveniences and often a ditch, cave, or hidden alleyway as her bed and safe house for the night.

Less auspicious was the clothing situation.  She really ought to have stored a go-bag of clothes on the _Falcon_ too, but it was harder to predict what sorts of clothing would be needed for each individual mission.  It varied according to planet, location on planet, time, season, local customs, whether it was a more diplomatic or undercover mission, and so forth.  She always packed on a case-by-case basis, which left her now with literally just the clothes on her back.

It worked in her favor that Hoth had such an extreme environment, leaving her several layers of clothing to work with.  Underneath her snowsuit, Leia had on a set of thermals, with regular leggings and an Alliance standard issue women's athletic tank beneath that.  It gave her several combinations to work with.  Most problematic was that she had just the one set of Alliance basics:  a simple underwire sports bra and no-frills panties.  Her initial thought was to go without basics while they were being washed, rotate out the other clothing items in the same manner — though worn on their own they were relatively thin — and just hope all the low-cost fabrics held out to the repeated use for the length of the journey.  But, thinking ahead, Han had already anticipated, and solved, the problem.

Those who didn’t know him well assumed Han to be gruff, blasé, and likely clueless about women’s everyday necessities.  Those familiar with him knew he was anything but uncaring, and with Leia in particular he tended to be incredibly solicitous.  As in all things with her, he showed exceptional consideration for her needs in a quiet and understated manner:  a pile of carefully selected clothing simply showed up on a crew bunk that night without the need of request from her or explanation from him. 

In this, Leia benefited from Han’s lean body type beyond just the usual visual pleasures it offered.  His trim waist and slim hips worked in her favor for making do with his borrowed pants.  His height was, of course, problematic, but pants could be rolled many times over and pinned into place if need be.  His shirts were huge on her petite frame but could work cinched with a belt over her leggings, or even qualified as short dress length without any bottoms at all.  From numerous and now commonplace stints of cohabitation on missions, she was privileged with information few others knew:  Han Solo owned and wore such conventional things as sleep pants, shorts, and t-shirts; the ones he gave her now would be a perfect choice for bed.  She also happened to know black boxer briefs were his basic of choice, so the stack of hip briefs — and even one pair of micro briefs — he provided her were eyebrow-raising to say the least.  As was the image they induced of their original owner wearing them.

The fact that he left all this for her on a crew bunk was in itself the result of a back-and-forth negotiation between them.  Han had straightaway offered her his cabin for the duration of their trip; it was the common arrangement on missions flown on the _Falcon_.  Leia had countered with the fact that on this trip there was no one else along with them and no need for privacy concerns when she would be the only one in the crew quarters, _and_ it was outfitted with closing doors the same as his cabin.  Han had rebutted that his cabin had a lock and the crew quarters did not, prompting Leia to shoot back with the question of whom exactly he thought it would be necessary for her to lock out.  After that devolved into kisses that left them thoroughly off-track, she’d conclusively settled the matter by telling Han she would feel more comfortable _not_ putting him out of his home for weeks on end and simply sleeping in one of the perfectly adequate crew bunks that already surpassed the coziness of her bed back on Hoth.  Han eventually capitulated, but reluctantly.

Of course, it _had_ occurred to Leia that they could _share_ his cabin.  In the three plus years of knowing each other — more than just knowing, but of intensely close friendship — it was far from an unheard of sleeping arrangement.  There had been the tents, sleeping sacks, and trenches of missions gone bad; the occasional cave; once or twice, a tree.  But there had also been many actual beds shared over the years, from those in rundown motels to luxury resorts.  They’d long since passed the point of taking turns on the couch or floor.  They’d even progressed beyond sharing the bed but sleeping head-to-toe, or with a pillow barrier, or whatever other nonsensical and totally ineffective modesty barriers they’d thought up during that first year of missions together.  In fact, they’d shared his very bunk on numerous occasions:  _Falcon_ flown missions with too many people and not enough beds — on one memorable occasion keeping the Rogues up all night with suppositions, bets, and newly calculated odds; after she’d had nightmares; when the heat had gone out or just been inadequate on Echo Base.  First and foremost, even above and beyond their attraction to one another, they were loyal friends, and friends could share a sleeping space without blinking an eye; it was as simple as that.

Yet now, to Leia, it didn’t _feel_ so simple, with them taking steps — albeit baby ones — beyond friendship.  It put sharing his cabin into suddenly fraught waters.  Han had apparently sensed it too, as he’d never once suggested that during their room negotiation.

And, indeed, though they were still just twenty-four standard hours in, Han had faithfully kept his promise to take things slowly, at a pace she set.  He’d kissed her good morning, and kissed her goodbye when she took her shift on watch, but those had both been gentle, fairly chaste kisses.  The closest they’d come to a repeat of the unrestrained passion of that circuitry bay kiss had been the night before after the comments on his locking cabin door, and even then Han had stopped short after just barely grazing his tongue over hers.

His clear respect for her and devotion to her boundaries touched Leia’s heart — and regions further below.  She had always expected, she was quickly discovering unjustly so, that if she ever gave Han any sort of greenlight he would waste no time in trying to promptly get her into bed.  Finding the actual truth to be just the opposite raised her already high opinion of him, and was frankly sexy as hell.  The combination of good man and roguish scoundrel was a lethal one for Leia, especially when it came in the package of Han’s looks and charisma; his bravery and aptitude; his humor and sarcasm; and something he would never admit to but that she found hopelessly lovable, his secret goofiness and endearingly disguised blunders. 

Han’s reluctance to come on too strong and his dedication to her sense of ease and comfort were laudable qualities that had an — what she guessed to be unintended and unknown on Han’s part — aphrodisiac effect.  But such noble selflessness simultaneously caused a less pleasant twitch of empathy when she sensed the _effort_ with which he was ever so carefully holding himself back. 

She wished to take things slowly, yes, but that didn’t mean Han wasn’t allowed to kiss her in the more heated manner he so perceptibly desired.  With her skittishness and the mixed signals she’d sent him over the years, Leia blamed herself for making him think so.  Obviously, he felt in danger of her changing her mind about them at any moment.  It was a mistaken belief that stood to be corrected, and while alone together preparing an afternoon meal later that day, she pondered over how best to do that. 

Han unknowingly gave her the perfect opportunity.

He was smearing slices of bread blue with a generous helping of bantha butter for the grilled houjix cheese sandwiches he was making them when, without warning, Han asked in a low tone, “Can I see your hair down again?”

Leia looked up in surprise from peeling off the lid of a can of pukkha broth.  She’d been lost in her own reflections, while concurrently focused on the task of heating up the soup as their accompaniment, and hadn’t given a second thought to flitting about the relatively compact food preparation area, skirting close behind, alongside, and reaching across him as they each navigated the small space, fetching items from the cupboard, drawers, and chiller.  But now that he’d made her aware of it, there _was_ a thrilling sort of tension in the room. 

Han wanted her; recognizing that awoke the same feeling in Leia.  His sweetly hopeful request, mixed with an air of desire, was the closest he’d come to trying for more than a gentle kiss — and, being honest with herself, it was a welcome advance.  In her heart of hearts, she could admit that she craved being seduced by Han.  Just because she wasn’t yet ready to bring that seduction to completion didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy his attempts.  In short, she imagined that Han Solo really and truly putting the moves on her would be an immensely enjoyable experience.

Pouring the broth into two bowls, she paused to smile coquettishly up at him.  “Maybe.”  And she made sure to skim the side of her arm along his hip as she carried the bowls past him over to the nanowave.

Her tone sold the answer as a provocative one, not quite a ‘yes’ and not quite a ‘no’ but an unmistakable invitation to keep trying.  “I gotta earn it, right?” he smirked.

Hearing that, Leia placed the bowls inside the nanowave and turned back to face him, dropping her saucy manner and turning serious.  “You don’t have to _earn_ anything,” she told him sincerely.  “I’ve known you for years; you’ve already proven the caliber of man you are.  It isn’t about that.  I—” 

“It’s alright, Leia,” Han interrupted, affecting a chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood.  “I was just jokin’ around.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t think you were,” she said kindly.  “About the earning it, maybe.  But not about the request to see it.  And that’s okay.  I’ve been meaning to say that to you all morning:  it’s _okay_ to admit what you want.  Isn’t that what we’re doing now?  Telling each other what we feel, when we feel it?” she repeated his words from the night before.  “It’s okay to want the things you want.  No more pretending with me, either.  You’re not going to frighten me away, Han…And you know,” she added, whirling back to punch the buttons to start the stove, “wanting goes both ways.” 

With the nanowave humming to life behind her, Leia crossed back over to his side.  “It’s okay to say you want to see me with my hair down.  I want that, too.”  And she genuinely did. 

It wasn’t that she had some deep longing for him to admire how her hair looked loose and free, any more than she guessed it was a particular need of his — though she supposed men _did_ find women’s hair sexually attractive.  It was about the rare privilege of it, the measured intimacy it signified for anyone familiar with the Alderaanian custom. 

Leia had never spelled it out for anyone, not even Winter, but in her adolescence she’d crafted her own unique version of her home’s hair tradition.  The general rule, at least in its most ancient configuration, was that an Alderaanian woman’s hair was always braided or tied up in some fashion until she was married, whereupon it was her husband’s wedding-night honor to take it down, and even then, her husband would be the only men to _ever_ see her hair down beyond fathers, brothers, and other close family members. 

In modern times, however, that had grown to be considered old-fashioned.  At the time of the Disaster, most native women had evolved the rule from ‘no men but family ever’ to ‘no men but family prior to marriage’.  Starting with her mother, the royal house too accepted this modern interpretation.  A single woman’s hair always pinned up in public was something her aunts called a sign of modesty and “maidenhood”, but to the planet as a whole it was a symbol of marriage itself.  Alderaanian women didn’t wear wedding rings, but those you saw in public with loose hair you instantly knew to be married.  Of course, many modern Alderaanian women who followed the marriage custom had often let men see their hair down _privately_ , in the same way that most women did not wait for marriage to become sexually active.  But in public, those same non-married women continued to braid or pin up their hair. 

For Leia, though she hadn’t had the chance to live it in practice before her planet’s destruction, she had opted to adopt an amalgamation of the public and the private, the modern and traditional practice.  She wouldn’t wait until marriage to wear her hair loose in public, but she would until she’d taken a lover.  In her mind, the two were nearly synonymous; she needn’t be married to a man to have sex with him, but she wouldn’t have sex with him until the relationship was very serious and viewed as permanent on both sides.  Only then would she take her hair down in his presence — and, married or not, she would still largely wear it up in public, as she considered her loose and free hair to be something personal that not all eyes were entitled to at any point.

“I _want_ to have my hair down with you,” she reiterated.  Admitting as much, even wanting as much, was unprecedented for Leia, much more than she thought he knew.  “Just not quite yet.” 

Nevertheless, not allowing him that yet, maintaining _some_ continued boundaries didn’t mean she wanted Han to be restrained around her.  “But you don’t have to hold back with me,” Leia assured him.  “I’ll tell you if it’s too much, too fast.”  She worried at her thumbnail with her forefinger, debating over delving into this and hoping she could do so without wounding his pride.  “It’s okay to kiss me.”

“I _have_ kissed you,” Han answered, sounding nettled.  “Twice already today.” 

“Now who’s getting excited, Hotshot?  Luckily, we’ve got plenty of time for anything else,” she teased softly. 

Frowning, he moved the grill pan, now with the assembled houjix cheese sandwiches, onto the stove.  “I would’ve kissed you more, ‘cept we were in different parts of the ship.”

“I’m not insulting your virility, Han.  I’m saying:  it’s okay to kiss me the way _you want_ to kiss me.” 

Intrigued, his brow went up.  “Is it now?  Sure you know what you’re invitin’, Princess?” he drawled, moving in closer.

“Hmm, reasonably sure, yes,” Leia coyly flirted back.  “But shall I rephrase it for you?  It’s okay to kiss me the way you would have on Ord Mantell.”

At that, Han’s brow shot clear up to his scruffy bangs.  “Ord Mantell, huh?  Now I’m _sure_ you don’t know what you’re invitin’,” he said in a deep, velvet baritone that tripped though her veins to settle down low in her core. 

He brought his hand to her side, his fingers curling over her lower ribs, and Leia wrapped her own arm about his waist.  “ _Are_ you, though?” she riposted alluringly. 

His other hand went up to the back of her neck and Han bent to kiss her.  It started out slow, but with a barely contained sizzle that sparked to the surface when Leia pressed into him and her breasts brushed over his chest.  Ignited, he wrapped both his arms fully around her as she brought her hand up to his face, opening her mouth to him and deepening the kiss.

It was then that Chewbacca walked into the galley, stopping in his tracks with a whir of surprise at finding them mid-clinch.  Leia turned first, breaking the kiss, and then Han followed suit, looking over in annoyance at the spoiler of yet another moment.

Discovering the Wookiee in the doorway, Leia took a discrete step back so that her body wasn’t so fully meshed to Han’s, but she remained in his arms as they awaited Chewbacca’s reaction.

It was the first time anyone, other than the clueless Threepio, had discovered this new development in their relationship.  Would he tease them?  Chide them for taking up with each other _now_ , at such an ill-conceived time as this:  with Han about to leave, them arguing over it for the past month, and the group of them presently trapped for a standard month to collectively bear the brunt should this thing go south and Leia and Han wind up fighting even more bitterly than before?

Perhaps, Leia supposed, Chewbacca was truly stunned to witness this about-face from his human friends, going from being at each other’s throats to at each other’s lips.  Han’s guess was that his partner, who’d been actively encouraging this from the very beginning, resented not having already been told about this change in their relationship status.  Either that or it was equally likely Chewbacca was just enjoying watching them sweat. 

Whatever the reason, the Wookiee took his time in giving any outward reaction at all.  Until at last he barked, [Finally], in long-suffering relief.

“Yeah — _finally_ ,” Han emphasized, drawing Leia back in till her body was pressed to his again.  “So give us a break, pal, and head back to the engineering station and those control panel repairs.”

With a nod, Chewie started to leave, but Leia broke from Han’s embrace, calling after him.  “No, don’t go.”  To Han, she affectionately scolded, “Hush you.  We’re all stuck together for weeks and weeks.  You don’t really expect him to have no one but Threepio to talk to?”

“And why not?  Goldenrod’s got plenty enough to say to fill _years’_ worth of time.”

“Oh, Han, stop.”  She gave a playful shove to his chest that was really more of a teasing graze of her open palm over his peck. 

Han suspected it was meant to be purposefully maddening.  Intended or not, it had done its job.  She’d invited his desire and she more than had it — but now with his copilot as an uninvited chaperone! 

“Chewie, stay and have lunch with us.”

Correction, invited by _one_ of them, but sure as hells not wanted by him, Han thought. 

Chewbacca walked back into the galley, evidently taking Leia up on the offer.  She gave him a welcoming smile and shot a taunting wink Han’s way, confirming his suspicion that she was deliberately enticing him, the little minx. 

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to their sandwiches before they burned.  This would be a long lunch, he knew, and an even longer — though mutually satisfying — battle of seductive wills until they could finally work some of this tension off in bed. 

Chewie had been right; there was no more appropriate word for this trip than _finally_.

“No hard feelings, pal,” Han told him later, once they’d all sat down with their food, he and Leia with the soup and sandwiches they’d made, and Chewbacca with a Factryn meat pie.  “It’s not that I don’t want to see ya, but…you know how it is,” he shrugged.

[You wish to be alone with Little Princess], Chewbacca ascertained.

“Well, _I_ don’t mind you watchin’, but I think she’d have a problem with it,” Han quipped, earning a cheerful scowl from Leia.

[Such a thing is understandable, particularly in the beginning.  I remember how it was with Malla], Chewie growled wistfully.  [It is long past that time for the two of you, even by human standards.  I was almost going to let Young Jedi’s squadron lock you up together in one of the storage closets.]

“When did that ever work any of the other times?” his partner argued.

“I don’t know, Han,” Leia cut in slyly, laying her hand on his forearm.  She licked her lips and then bit her lower one enticingly.  “Once or twice, it came _very_ close…” 

The lip thing may have been unintentional, but the way she was rubbing his arm definitely was no accident.  He shouldn’t have underestimated her in any competition — diplomatic, political, or seductive.  “Yeah, so did I,” he retorted, and to even things out a little he dipped down into that timbre that drove her mad.  “Remember Kala'uun?”

Her blush told him she recalled it well. 

It was on a mission to Ryloth about a year ago.  Following an unusually successful and lucrative meet-up with a Rebel operative, they’d all gone out for a rare night of leisure and celebration at some of the city’s tourist shops and cantinas.  After more than a few drinks, things began to descend into debauchery and Wedge had been uncharacteristically persuaded by Janson to lock Han and Leia in one of the by-the-hour privacy cells of a Kala'uun joy cave — with nothing but each other, a bed, and some Zeltron spiced wine.

“I remember,” Leia replied in a breathy whisper, her eyes locked on his.

Han had to admit, taking it slow _did_ have its benefits; this anticipatory buildup was certainly one of them.  One thing was for sure:  when they did finally come together, it would be with enough heat to spark ignition in even the _Falcon’s_ broken hyperdrive.

 


	4. Lovestruck, Part 2

With Chewie on watch, Han and Leia spent the afternoon — or what passed for it; after several days in space they were totally reliant on the ship’s artificial day and night cycles — working on repairs, along with Threepio, who they wisely had occupied in a different part of the ship. 

The _Falcon_ had taken hard hits from the Star Destroyer, leaving numerous spots around the ship needing patch-ups and overhauls above and beyond the broken hyperdrive.  They’d already spent several hours hoping to get the rear deflector shield up and running again, just in case they met with more hostile company. 

The last forty minutes or so had seen them both in the Main Hold, Han working beneath the floor while Leia sat at the station nearby, checking the corresponding diagnostics while occasionally passing him tools through the open maintenance access hatch.

“Any change in the numbers?” he called up to her, swinging his torso back upright from where he’d been dangling over a pipe deep into the bowels of the ship — Leia secretly loved it when he did that; it was an amazing view. 

She shook her head, though he was still hard at work and presently couldn’t see.  “It’s too soon to tell.  The system has to reset before giving a proper readout.”

Climbing back up enough so that his body was visible from nearly the waist up, Han set the hydrospanner he’d been using down into its tool box and looked over at her.  “Feel like we’re makin’ progress.  You’ve been a big help today.”  More than just assisting him, Leia had become a proficient mechanic in her own right in the years since Yavin.  “Sure glad I taught you basic ship repairs.”

She pursed her lips in private enjoyment of his ever-present bravado.  “Oh, you taught me, hmm?” she glibly replied, getting up and crossing the short distance to kneel before him.

Han nodded.  “Taught you the _Falcon_ , anyway.  She’s a very particular kind of ship.”

“And by ‘particular’ you mean held together by spit and a prayer?”

“Aw, don’t listen to her, baby,” he cooed, patting the beam beside his arm consolingly.

Leia laughed and slide the toolbox aside so she could lean forward on her elbows, shifting down onto her stomach to be closer to his level.  “You’re a very particular kind of man,” she murmured to him, her voice dropping low and his blood along with it as she reached for his neck and drew him the rest of the way across the maintenance pit to her waiting mouth.

Up until then, Han had always been the one pulling Leia into a kiss.  She came willingly every single time but was never the instigator, so her new assertiveness took him by surprise, took him a second to react.  But when he did he returned her kiss eagerly, and soon even that wasn’t enough.  Continuing to move his lips over hers — now that he’d been allowed to, kissing her forever seemed like an agreeable prospect — he ran his hands from her neck down the length of her arms until his open palms reached durasteel, and then he hoisted himself up out of the pit and onto the deck where he could better touch her. 

Caught by surprise herself, Leia scooted back to make room for him.  The gesture inadvertently separated their lips, but Han was unfazed and simply took ahold of her, hauling her half onto his lap in his exuberance to be near her.  “Princess, did you just kiss me?”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered dreamily, still lost in the spell of his mouth against hers and his hands now on her hips.

“ _You_ initiated a kiss?  All on your own?  ‘Cos you just….wanted to kiss me?” he asked, sounding somewhat baffled.

Grinning, she retorted, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Han answered in awe. 

Her smile fell and she nodded.  “Because I’m so cold.  The Ice Princess.” 

She began to pull away from him, but he caught her arm.  “No, not even close.  Because you’re so kriffing far out of my league.  Hells, Leia — you’re a princess, a senator, a commander, a fuckin’ force of nature.  You’re _incredible_.  So, yeah, it’s damn near impossible to believe you could ever want a guy like me.  Has been from the start.”

She had to smile at that.  “And yet, for the past three years, you’ve been insisting quite the contrary to anyone who would listen.”

“Yeah, but…”  Han shook his head.  For all of his bluster over Leia being crazy about him, it still seemed too good to be true that she actually _was_ ; the thought left him a bit gobsmacked.  “...that was just talk.”

“Oh, I think you believed it, Captain,” she said cheekily, curling her fingers into the edges of his jacket and using it to pull him to her.

“Attraction and lust, sure.”

“Was I that obvious, then?” she mocked herself, but he ignored it, still on his train of thought.

“People told me — Chewie, the Rogues, even Rieekan — that there was more between us, that _you_ felt it, too.  Didn’t seem like they could be right.  But, logically, their arguments made sense.  And after Ord Mantell, I—”

“Yes, Ord Mantell….”  Leia sighed at the beautiful memory of the first part of their trip, at the opportunities lost before it all ended in disaster.  And a darker, restless sigh at the aftermath that led to Han’s leaving.  

“After that, it was hard not to have _some_ hope that you might have deeper feelings.”  Han wrapped himself tightly around her, bending to nuzzle his nose beneath her ear.  “But _kest_ , Sweetheart.  What are you doin’ slummin’ with a guy like me?”

Moving her fingers into his hair, she gently brought his face back up to look at her.  “You mean a guy who has saved my life more times than I can count?  A man who’s held me when I was hysterical with fear after yet another nightmare?  A man who insinuatingly charmed his way into my life, determined I would still _have_ one, that I wouldn’t spend my days and nights starving and sleepless, cold and alone and in misery for all I’d lost?  A man who made it a point every single day — even when I yelled terrible things at him — to make me smile, or laugh, or even just yell at him some more because at least then I was feeling something other than pain?” 

Leia moved her hands down to cup his face, her thumbs tenderly sliding along his jaw.  “It’s not slumming, Han.  What in this galaxy would I be doing _not_ with a guy like that?”

She smiled at him, her heart in those large caf brown eyes, and in the very next second her breath was taken away as he swooped in and kissed her for all he was worth.

* * *

The following day found the _Falcon’s_ entire crew working to fix her hyperdrive.  They were all fairly certain it was an exercise in futility — Threepio had already informed them of the astronomical odds — but they had nothing but time to kill, so what did it hurt to try?

Han would have preferred to banish Goldenrod to the cockpit on watch or shut him down entirely, never a fan of his overly loquacious style, a sentiment that had only grown since Threepio had developed a knack for interrupting him and the princess.  But he needed the droid’s help talking with the ship, and so Han had Threepio plugged in at the back engineering station — at least a _little_ removed from where he was — to translate _Falcon_ -ese while simultaneously keeping an eye on the scopes.

Chewbacca was busy at the actual hyperdrive unit, which left Leia and Han working together in the rear circuity bay.

Or they’d _meant_ to be working…. 

She was just too irresistible to Han, wearing one of his shirts belted with a spare piece of fibra-rope over an old pair of his bloodstripes rolled up at least half a dozen times.  And dammit if she didn’t look adorable in welding goggles — how she could make even _them_ look good was as mystical as Luke’s Force mumbo-jumbo, but she did. 

Welding soon fell by the wayside as Han laid aside her goggles and torch and, unable to help himself, bent to kiss the freckles across Leia’s cheeks and over the bridge of her nose.

Chewie, who happened to be walking by on his way to the ceiling hatch, spied them that way and made an amused comment in passing on how clearly besotted they both were.

Before meeting Han and Chewie, Leia hadn’t known as much about Wookiees as perhaps she should have.  Once in their acquaintance, she quickly came to learn that Shyriiwook was a complicated language — so much more than the ‘barks and growls’ beings frequently reduced it to — and it had taken her longer than she was proud of to fully grasp it.  Things finally began to click into place for her when Han had offered this helpful advice:  _You gotta relax about it.  Give that brain of yours a rest and just_ feel _the meaning._   Luckily, she’d long been fluent in Solo speak, and therefore knew he meant that translating Shyriiwook was less about the actual words and more about deciphering the tone, pitch, resonance, and tenuto.  Even then, meaning was often situational, making Shyriiwook one of the most complex dialects she had ever studied. 

While striving to master the language, she’d come to discover for herself _why_ verbatim translation was ineffective, if not impossible.  The vocal makeup of Wookiees meant oral limitations where they were literally unable to convey Shryiiwook representations of certain Basic words.  One of those difficult-to-adapt terms was non-Shryiiwook given names.  There was no Wookiee sound to express ‘Leia’ or ‘Han’, so Chewbacca had his own unique monikers for every being he was on a first name basis with.  Han he called Cub, an affectionate mark of the human he loved as a little brother, possibly even as a son; Luke was Young Jedi, for obvious reasons; she was Little Princess; Artoo belonged to Luke now and was often busy with him and the Rogues, but when Chewbacca did having dealings with the astromech he called him Jedi Droid; and Threepio had Leia’s very favorite sobriquet of them all:  Aureate.  It was especially fitting for the protocol droid, as its duel meanings — literally ‘of a golden color’, and figuratively ‘of golden, grandiose speech’ — were both exceedingly apropos.

That was just one of many fascinating things Leia had learned about the Wookiee tongue, and by now she considered herself fluent in the language, second only to Han amongst the Rebels at her translating skills.  But she still wasn’t an expert Shryiiwook linguist and had to look to Han in question at this unfamiliar sound.  Perhaps it was a new nickname?  “I don’t know that word.  Or is it a phrase?  What did he say?”

Han had glowered after Chewbacca as he’d lumbered away, but Leia hadn’t caught on and seemed to be asking now not out of the same insult Han had felt but simply the curiosity of her always hungry mind.  “Closest translation is somethin’ like —”  Han grimaced, but knew she wouldn’t let it go until he told her.  “— ‘lovey-dovey’.”

His explication was met with Leia’s tinkling, near musical laughter.  Unrestrained levity was still too much of a rarity for her — a criminal one; she deserved to be lighthearted, joyful, and carefree _all_ of the time.  So though he’d tried to pull a face at her for finding it comical that the overgrown fuzzball thought such a blasphemous thing of them, Han was far too delighted by her giggling happiness not to smile himself. 

“What?” she teased, running a finger over his recently pouting lower lip.  “Of all the things I’m sure you’ve been called in your lifetime, you find _that_ offensive?”

“Not offensive, I guess.  But you gotta admit, it’s a little cutesy.  And cutesy we ain’t,” he insisted, even as he bit playfully at her finger.

Leia yelped in surprise, pulling her hand back from his mouth.  “Aren’t we?  Chewie thinks we are,” she grinned.  “I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to face facts:  you, Han Solo, are terribly cute.”  She went up on tiptoes to nip at his chin before turning to retrieve her welding goggles from the lever he’d slung them across.

“‘Cute’ ain’t the same as ‘cute _sy_ ’.  Cute, I’ll take.”  He snatched the goggles back away from her, determined there would be no more work right now.  They had plenty of time and were currently in no danger.  He could neglect his first love a little to enjoy himself with his greatest one, especially when she was so warm, exuberant, and suddenly willing.  “Hot is even better,” he said with a wink and that roguishly tilted smirk she’d forever had trouble resisting, even back when she’d claimed to hate him.

Leia stepped in closer, and Han expected to be kissed — he _knew_ it; that smirk got her every time.  Instead, she made a swoop for the goggles.  Only at the very last second was he able to dodge her, using his height to hold them tantalizingly out of her reach. 

They stood in a face-off, neither party giving.  Locked in a stubborn staredown, the playfulness of the moment gave over to something charged and electric in the way it so often had in many of their past shouting matches that had less to do with where she wanted him to fly off to next and everything to do with the frustratingly unresolved sexual tension crackling between them. 

That electric tension was just fine with Han now, when they had time, opportunity, and inclination to do some resolving.  He was about to reach for her, forget the goggles — what even were goggles?  What was a hyperdrive?  What was a starship?  There was nothing but _this_ — when she took a step back, put her fists to her hips and _hmph_ -ed in feigned frustration.

“You may like ‘hot’, but that’s not what Chewie witnessed.  You were kissing my nose.  How _very_ cutesy of you!” she taunted him impishly.

“Hey, you liked it,” Han smugly contended.  But some of that cocky self-assurance faded a bit as he asserted, “And I was being a gentleman.  Doesn’t make me ‘lovey-dovey’.”

Given his reputation as a self-interested — though that part had certainly suffered over the years — badass smuggler, with the cunning charm and swagger of a galaxy-wide cross-species ladies’ man, her first impulse was to mock the idea of Han as any kind of a ‘gentleman’.  But he had, in fact, been a gentleman to her on countless occasions of shared beds and wounds tended to in varying degrees of nudity with nary an inappropriate pass made. 

Few would likely believe how _much_ of a gentleman Han actually was, so Leia left that assertion alone, opting to tease him with, “Ah, but lovey-dovey has such a nice ring to it!  I’m Lovey-Dovey Solo,” she said, dropping her voice and transforming her mannerisms to emulate him; she even took a few swaggering steps that way.  “Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_.  See,” Leia asserted, back to her real voice, “it’s sweet.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall and regarding her with an enamored half-smile.  “Oh, is that me, Sweetheart?”  The deep-toned, provocative challenge in his words unmistakably promised something very good coming her way.

Leia didn’t let up, wanting every bit of what his eyes suggested.  “You’ve never heard of the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs?” she continued in her hilarious apt imitation of him.  “How can that be?  I only mention it to _everyone I meet_.”

With that, Han succumbed.  “Get over ‘ere, Worship.  I’ll show you lovey-dovey,” he said, his voice a low growl she could feel all the way to her toes.  And he pulled her into his arms, the goggles falling ignored to the floor.

 


	5. Serendipity, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to the ladies over at HSBCAS, where waxing poetic about any part of Han Solo’s anatomy is not only commonplace but highly encouraged.

 

* * *

Serendipity

(n.) the development of events in an unplanned but happy and beneficial way; finding something delightful when you are not looking for it

* * *

 

Sitting at the dejarik table with Han, still nursing their caf from breakfast, Leia gradually tuned out his and Chewie’s alluvial damper debate, taken instead by the sight of Han’s hand where it sat against his thigh.  This wasn’t a new captivation.  She’d spent years watching his hands:  while he was piloting; executing repairs and improvements around the _Falcon_ ; making her tea after a nightmare; drawing and using his blaster; tending to a wound — his or hers; figuring nav calculations on flimsi because he only trusted himself with their lives in Imp heavy territories.

In the beginning, she told herself the allure of his hands was simply a larger admiration of his talents and skills, of how they could be of great use to the Rebellion.  When their appeal only increased with time, she reasoned what she was experiencing was an appreciation of the connection between the way he used his hands and what that revealed about his deeper personality.  His fingers were adept and sure, which was to be expected of a smuggler pilot with his experience, yet each movement was implemented not only with expertise but with extreme focus, patience, and even gentleness; that said a lot about the sort of man Han Solo truly was.  While all those things were indeed true, as the years passed, Leia eventually gave up and reached the point where she could secretly admit at least to herself that she just plain found Han’s hands sexy.

They were dexterous and adroit, agile and nimble, precise and careful — not just careful as in ‘cautious’, literally full of care.  Han used his hands to pilot and work with such focused attention; always with measured motions, deftly targeted for optimum results.  It didn’t take Leia long to begin to imagine how that could translate in far different, intimate circumstances with her.  More nights than she cared to admit — there was a time when she would have been mortified for him to _ever_ know — she thought about Han’s hands. 

And his face, and his mouth, and his body, yes.  But his _hands_.  Those capable, attractively masculine hands — the many feats they had performed, and all she craved for them yet to do — sparked fantasies that weren’t limited to her bunk alone but that crept up at the oddest, most inconvenient moments.

The pleasant roughness of Han’s hands, just abrasive enough to cause that extra little bit of friction that made her crave his touch all the more:  further, longer, across more of her skin; always _more_.  Not just an attention-seeking tap of her knee or an innocent stroke over her wrist, but up the full length of her arm, along her entire leg — and _bare_ , his skin against hers with nothing in between.

Such long, clever fingers.  So proficient, gifted, and skillfully exact. 

Now that they were together, often Han would play them over her neck, collarbone, and shoulders as he kissed her.  It never failed to send shivers through her and a warmth that woke her body.  And that was just her neck!  What they could do to her more sensitive areas had long held sensual sway over her in the quiet of her darkened room.  By now, it had become an utter _fascination_.

Even the veins and the tendons that powered Han’s practiced fingers; the increased breadth at his knuckles; and his carefully rounded, short and clean fingernails — somewhat surprising for a man who did so much physical labor with his hands.  It was _all_ a turn-on, and all transferred to some way he could touch her, pleasure he could give her, his certain ability to make her body soar just the same as he did the _Falcon_.

Sometimes during debriefings, especially following missions they’d spent alone together with exponentially rising sexual tension that was ready to burst by the time they made it back to base, Han would be sitting beside her, slouched and usually blithe and brazenly bored with the proceedings — she couldn’t really blame him as they often _were_ boring and filled with far too much red tape; after already submitting written reports and answering questions, it needn’t go on and on — and Leia herself would start to drift….start thinking about Han’s hands, _looking_ at them where they were lazily spread over his stomach, hanging over his knees, or resting idly in his lap.  And soon looking would lead to imagining:  imagining them resting on her instead; spread over her, rubbing that delicious friction onto her somehow-suddenly-bare body. 

Once at a debriefing a few months before Ord Mantell, Mon herself had needed to call Leia to attention, red-cheeked and stammering, from an absorbing fantasy of her and Han in an amorous clinch in the back of the tapcafe, his hand up the short, formfitting dress she’d worn as part of her waitress cover.  It had been embarrassing to say the least, but thankfully, no one had seemed the wiser.  While Han was apparently capable of detecting generalized desire on her, and had sussed out the effect lower registers of his voice could have, he had yet to make _that_ particular connection.

It wasn’t her intentional plan to apprise him of it now, but Leia’s desire led to nerve, and her hand was moving before her brain even caught up to it. 

Initially, she only set her hand over his where it continued to rest against his leg.  There was a whisper of a pause in Han’s flow of conversation and he glanced over to her and smiled before looking back to Chewbacca, but all the while he carried on with what they were discussing. 

Until Leia took hold of his hand from above and placed it atop _her_ upper thigh, letting go and leaving it there.  At that, Han stopped dead mid-word. 

He looked down to his hand on Leia’s thigh, then up into her eyes, where she boldly met his gaze with a kittenish arch of her brow.  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she confided.

His fingers spasmed a little against her leg at that confession, and he looked back down, taking in the sight of his hand on her.  They both watched, rapt, as he spread his fingers wide over her until they completely spanned her leg, his thumb hooking over her inner thigh.  He began moving his hand in a gentle but steady caress, and when she didn’t object he broadened his touch all the way down to her knee and back up again. 

Han’s eyes went back up to Leia’s, but it was his copilot who he addressed.  “Chewie, get out,” he warned gruffly.

The Wookiee barely had time to leave the room before Han’s free hand reached for Leia and pulled her into a hungry, immediately open-mouthed kiss.

* * *

Things went on as such as they reached the end of their first week toward Bespin.  The frequency and fervor of their kissing had grown increasingly heated, and Leia surprised herself by basking in it.  In fact, she was certain the Rebels back at the rendezvous point on _Home One_ would have difficulty even recognizing her.  But this interlude with Han, it was all so new to her — and it was _invigorating_.  Not just their romantic pursuits, though that aspect was electrifying and revelatory all on its own, but the freedom with which she could yield to them.

She’d spent years conflicted over Han:  conflicted over his suitability for her, not the orphaned smuggler part but his refusal to commit to the Alliance and his oft proclaimed ephemerality with the Rebellion; conflicted over her fear of loving _anyone_ again after losing everything she had loved.  Additionally, she felt herself unentitled to any kind of personal life. 

After Alderaan, she carried the weight of her people in a whole new way — a terrible, unique burden that no one else in the galaxy could fully understand.  Beyond the guilt of surviving when millions of others had not, beyond the sense of culpability that if she had just said or done one thing differently — only one thing more — maybe she could have prevented it, there was the heavy mantle of responsibility for atonement and redress.  She was unable to bring her people back, but as the Last Princess of Alderaan she bore the singular, exacting charge and obligation to see the beings and government that had committed the atrocity forever brought down.  It was up to her to give the death of her people at least _some_ sense of meaning by restoring peace to the galaxy and ensuring such planetary genocide could never, ever happen again. 

As long as the Emperor, Vader, and the Empire ruled, as long as the Alliance to Restore the Republic fought on another day, it was her _sole_ duty to see to that — and nothing else.  Only once she’d avenged the destruction of Alderaan would she be entitled to anything like personal feelings, diversions, or a life of her own.

At times, she’d felt guilty feeling happy at all.  She’d have these brief dalliances of amusement and flirtation, of lust and longing, of lively enjoyment with Han.  Then, afterwards, she would feel all the more compelled to buckle down harder, to recommit herself to the only important goal. 

She had lived that way ever since the Disaster, torn and taxed, with a heart pulled in different directions.

But now, floating out in deep space, something had happened to Leia. 

In those first hours, it had driven her crazy, nearly to distraction, that things were so far out of her control.  There was a war to be won, the fate of the _galaxy_ on the line.  Her Alliance was on the run yet again — they would need to find a new location, build a new base, remobilize their forces.  And here she was, idle for weeks, at the mercy of a temperamental starship! 

Yet, after the first day or so, after her heart-to-heart with Han, after the revelation of their shared feelings and their joint commitment to actually acknowledging them now, suddenly her powerlessness began to take on a whole new light of reprieve.  It was no longer a sentence, but a respite.  

Because _this_ wasn’t her fault.  It was utterly beyond her control, and for once, there was no alternative to pursue.  For the first time since her planet was destroyed, the weight of rectification wasn’t on _her_.  There was nowhere she could go and nothing she could do for the Alliance or for her people. 

And in the absence of that acute responsibility, all that was left was _herself_ — her wants, her needs, her time and her freedom to indulge her feelings. 

With that came the gradual return of the person she used to be before the Disaster.  Still dedicated to the cause, still determined to see freedom and goodwill reign across the galaxy, still honoring the obligation to her people that came with being their elected representative and their princess, yet also allowed to be her own person — one who valued her individual life and the pursuit of her own personal happiness; one who was witty and fun; one who was _allowed_ to be lighthearted and joyful, and even occasionally cater to her own pleasures and wellbeing.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Leia was permitted to be and do all of that.  And so she was, in abundance. 

Han recognized the change in her too, and was perceptive enough to understand exactly how and why it came about.  Though he didn’t say as much to Leia, he thanked the Force, or whoever was responsible, for the fortuitous malfunction in his ship.  It had spelled no real danger for them — they’d managed to escape the Empire, and he was certainly in no hurry to say goodbye to Leia and go face Jabba — and it had made possible the circumstance and _time_ that was so desperately needed for them, to work on being a ‘them’, and for Leia especially, to let go, to relax, to be able to just _be_.

So, yes, she was basking in it.  They both were.  Though, so far, their passionate indulgences had been almost entirely limited to their mouths, it was still _more_ on every level — more excitement, more pleasure, more euphoric exhilaration — than anything either had known before.  Every chance they got, they engaged in enthusiastic bouts of deep kissing, all open mouths and teasing tongues and enough heat that Dodonna would be scandalized to know that’s how they were passing the time.  Yet, beyond the stray playful kisses to cheeks, noses, eyelids and the like, everything was kept within the relatively safe boundary of lips-on-lips. 

Han didn’t intend, on the afternoon of their seventh day together, to broaden the intensity and scope of their amorous repertoire.  It just…. _happened_ all on its own; a transformative experience in itself for Han, who before Leia had never made an unintentional move on a woman in his life. 

Chewbacca was on watch in the cockpit, and Threepio had voluntarily closed himself down until his shift — something Han definitely wasn’t complaining about — which left Han and Leia to their own devices in the rest of the ship.  He was ostensibly doing some overhauling in the main hold, working at the access panels next to the acceleration couch but really just using it as an excuse to be near Leia, who was sitting at the dejarik table, scrolling through something on a datapad that he couldn’t see at his angle.

He soon abandoned all pretense of work and moved onto the couch beside her for a better view, only to discover she was actually writing something.  “You adding me to your diary, Princess?” Han asked with a rascally grin before making a grab for the datapad. 

She held him off, and a playful tussle ensued.  One thing quickly led to another after that, but it was Leia’s eager reception that impelled Han to take things a little further beyond where they’d been.  Pressing her against the back of the couch, he moved his mouth from hers to begin an exploratory course along her jaw that led him over to the shell of her ear, where he laid a string of kisses, before moving on to brush tender but teasing lips — barely there, but enough to feel the tempting warmth of his breath and the softness of his mouth — just beneath her lobe, where jaw and ear met.  Finding this triggered an equally, if not more, receptive response from Leia, Han traced his tongue along the outer edge of her ear, and when she was good and primed — with soft sighs and her fingertips pressing into his shoulders — he took her entire earlobe into his mouth, sucking until the combination of heat and suction, delicate sweeps of his teasing tongue paired with provocative nibbles, made her whimper and squirm against him. 

Successfully having mined that area, he moved down to her long, proud neck.  Oh, the many meetings he’d become lost in fantasies of mapping the pale, slender softness with his mouth!  Actually bringing his lips there now, Han found it to be better than he’d ever imagined — skin like warm shimmersilk against his mouth, and her lush curves pressing into him as she ever so softly moaned and wriggled closer.

“Han?” Leia whispered to him while his lips began to outline her collarbone. 

He responded distractedly, absorbed with kissing along her skin.  “Hmm?”

“Take my hair down.”

Han froze for a moment, sure he hadn’t heard that right.  Easing away to intently meet her eyes, he found her regarding him in tender amusement. 

“My hair,” she repeated, holding his gaze meaningfully.  “Would you like to take it down?”

So many times in the past month, Han had been certain they’d never make it back to where they’d been at Ord Mantell, before Fett came along and ruined everything.  To have another chance seemed miraculous, and his heart soared knowing this was no mere request for her comfort, or for him to admire the beauty of all her dark hair in its full glory.  This was an invitation.  No, more than that; it was a statement.  A declaration of her intent — maybe not today or tomorrow, but _inevitably_ — to take him as her lover. 

Blood rushed to his groin and he swallowed heavily, made an attempt to answer affirmatively, express appropriate enthusiasm without hinting at his nearly overwhelming urge to clumsily lunge himself on her at her first word of welcome.  “ _Yeah_.  Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”  He lifted an eager hand to her hair, but any endeavors at smoothness abruptly failed him there, as he had no idea how to actually go about it.  “How…how does this work exactly?”

Laughing softly, Leia showed him where to start, what pins to pull out in which order to get her twin braids tumbling to her shoulders without twisting or painfully catching.  Once down, he removed the ties on each braid’s end and began carefully working the plaits free, distinctly aware of how privileged he was to do so; alone together, with his fingers buried in the hair of the Last Princess of Alderaan while he touched her and kissed her and loved her in any way she’d let him. 

Finally, her hair was fully loose, abundant and flowing in soft waves about her face, shoulders and chest, down to her waist.  All Han could do was stare as he took in the stunning curtains of silken tresses that would look and feel like heaven falling over them in bed from her place astride his hips.  He tried to rein himself in from that thought, from the accompanying twitch of his cock, taking a deep though shaky breath as he looked at her with eyes that had gone dark emerald.  “Valoramosa,” he sighed, the word spilling from his mouth unintended.

Han’s enthralled regard had a heady effect on Leia.  Her expression had grown soft and hazy, but now it sharpened in distinct interest.  “That was Olys Corellisi, wasn’t it?”  Han silently nodded.  “You hardly ever speak it.”

“Most people don’t.  It’s become kinda private and.…”  He grasped for the right word.  “…personal, _guarded_ — like your hair.  Mostly only fringers use it now.  It’s somethin’ of a smugglers’ code, secretive and privileged.” 

“But you _have_ used it, with me,” she pointed out, “more than once.”

He gave an acknowledging tilt of his head.  “Worship, you got a way of reducing me to my most basic; sort of just comes out.  Instinctive-like.  The only way to come close to expressin’ —”  He stopped, shaking his head, seemingly embarrassed to say the rest or of how she’d react to it.

“Expressing what?” she gently pressed.

He still looked as if he might not tell her, but then he finished in a quiet rush, “What you make me feel.”

Leia’s face flushed attractively, pleased and beguiled by that.  “What did you say just now?  What did I make you feel?”

“I said, ‘valoramosa’,” he revealed somewhat self-consciously; he hadn’t anticipated saying it aloud, let alone translating it for her.  “Means:  ‘first step’.”

“ _First_ step,” she highlighted, a smile playing at her lips.  “And what do you imagine us taking our first step towards, Captain?” she asked, arch and leading.

Han figured she was fishing to get him to say he wanted to take her to bed, but that much was a given; it didn’t need to be said.  He’d insinuated it enough, fairly blatantly at times, over years’ worth of flirting.  Plus, he’d promised to go at a pace she was comfortable with — and that included no attempts toward his bunk until she made it perfectly clear that’s where _she_ wanted to be. 

“What’s _our_ valoramosa?  To start, this.”  Reaching out, he gently grasped a handful of her hair, following it down from her ear, past her chest, to it very ends, where his fingers released it to mold instead to the curve of her waist.  “And this.”  He buried his other hand in the strands at her neck, sliding his fingers around to the back of her head.  “And then?  More of this, _lots_ more of this,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

His tongue only coaxed at the seam of her lips for a nanosecond before she opened to him, plunging her tongue inside his mouth and taking the lead, which was just fine with Han — more than fine; _anything_ was fine when she kissed him that way.

Several minutes later when they pulled back for breath, a frenzied hitch in Han’s that bordered almost on a pant, he couldn’t help the way his eyes hungrily tracked over her, admiring her some more.  “God, you’re beautiful,” he marveled.  “You’re wearing your hair down from now on.”  He phrased it like a statement, but with a boyishly imploring tone and a hopeful nod of his head that took any actual hint of command out of it.

“I don’t know about that…” Leia demurred.

Han gaped at her.  “Why?” he asked in a near-gasp that made her laugh.

“Because, Flyboy, I’ve just discovered how much I like it when you kiss my neck.”

That brought on the crooked smile she adored.  “You do, huh?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she declared wholeheartedly.  No bantering retort, no flirtatious humor to lighten the admission.  Just bald, bold acknowledgement of what felt good to her, of what she wanted from him — and, kriff, if that wasn’t a turn-on.

“Well, I can still do that just fine,” Han murmured, husky and low, in that tone that tripped along her spine.  With a slyly pointed look in his eyes, he moved the length of hair that was resting along her right shoulder to drape over her left, exposing one side of her neck:  one ear, one clavicle, the length of her throat.  “Got a lot of territory to play with here,” he asserted as he bent to her. 

His mouth found her neck again, and she immediately angled her head back to give him better access, encouraging the line of hot kisses he left along the underside of her chin.  He moved his lips down the column of her throat, his tongue teasing over the dip of its base before trailing his mouth back up the side of her neck.  “You _liked_ that,” he crowed, his lips curving against her skin in a self-satisfied smirk.

“How do you know?” was her whispered, wispy response, proof all on its own, but still he lifted his head to answer.

“To start, your pulse is racing under my lips.  Men may have the more obvious physical tell,” he dryly acknowledged, “but women have theirs, too.  Pupils dilate, breathing picks up — which is easy to tell since a guy’s eyes are usually on her chest already.”

“Cad,” Leia asserted with a smile.

Han’s eyebrow went up at that and his cocky grin appeared.  “Cad, huh?  I like that one.  Gotta make you call me that again.”

“I like scoundrel better.”

“Oh, I know you do.”  His fingers played over her lips, dancing down her neck where his mouth had just been.  “You got your own _particular_ tells, Princess.  I made it a point to catalogue ‘em all.”

Now it was Leia’s eyebrow that lifted in pleasure.  “For example?”

Han suspected she thought she’d be calling his bluff, but he had a list locked and loaded.  He’d certainly spent enough sleepless nights turning it over in his mind.  “Whenever I do or say something that gets you goin’, your body freezes all up; your muscles go tense like you’re tryin’ with all you got to hold it in.” 

Leia’s eyes burned a little brighter, and Han knew he had her in his thrall right now. 

“And if it really catches you, you suck your lips into your mouth and kinda purse ‘em.  First time I ever noticed was when I was wearin’ one of those shirts with the open collar that go down to mid-sternum,” he pointed in demonstration.  “You _really_ like those.  And when I talk to you, soft and deep.  Don’t even matter what I’m sayin’, long as I say it all low and suggestive — that’s how I first knew you wanted a scoundrel in your life.  And you can deny it all you want, but I had it pegged from early on that you love it when I call you ‘Sweetheart’.” 

Han gazed down at her, all heated eyes and smugly pleased expression.  Force help her, on him, it was the _sexiest_ look. 

“Need any more examples, Highness?” he asked, dropping his voice into that aforementioned tone that drove her wild.  “‘Cos this topic I could go on about all day.”

“Why don’t you demonstrate a few of them?” Leia requested, her hands settling on the warm firmness of his chest.  “What does it take to make sigh, Han?  Show me that now.”

“Gladly.”  He dipped to take her mouth, lingering there in a kiss she enthusiastically returned.  “But,” he continued even as he moved his attentions back down to her neck, “a sigh ain’t enough in my book.  _Sweetheart_ ,” he emphasized.  “Let’s make it a little louder.”

He slowly, thoroughly kissed his way down her neck, swept his mouth along her collarbone and back, to the junction of her neck and shoulder where he gently sucked at her skin.  She drew in a pronounced, tremulous breath at that and clutched him closer.  Han’s body strained against hers in response, and he began using his teeth too, in soft but hungry bites that enflamed Leia.  The fingers of her one hand twisted into his shirt while the finger of her other pushed up into his hair, holding him by the nape of his neck and further urging his mouth to stay pressed to her skin. 

Her encouragement prompted a voracious hum in the back of his throat, and he drew on her skin harder, driving an unmistakable moan from her — a hedonistic sound she hardly recognized.  Han nearly lost himself hearing the needy, keening cry from Leia, something his imagination had played out in countless lewd dreams of her but bore no comparison to the sheer _glory_ of it in reality.  His hand swept over her thigh of its own volition, and his sucking bites further increased in avidity.  Han had just enough presence of mind left to know what the outcome would be if he continued, so he pulled back enough to whisper her name questioningly against her fair skin. 

“Mmm, don’t stop,” she murmured, a breathy yearning request that elicited a groan from him. 

Still, he looked up, seeking her eyes, seeking tacit consent for the love bite he was sure he was about to cause.  “Leia, I’m going to—”  She opened her eyes, no longer caf in color but molten dark Trammistan chocolate, and Han momentarily lost his train of thought, finally managing to stammer, “It’s — it’s gonna leave a—”

“ _Let it_ ,” she brazenly urged.

That was all the more affirmation he needed to let go and lose himself in her. 

For the next long minutes, Leia was lost too, with Han pressed to her, seeming to surround her, certainly to engulf her senses:  the heat of him; the feel of his hard, strong muscles; his scent, masculine, uniquely _Han_ , and utterly arousing; the scrape of his teeth, the pressure of his lips, and the sleek warmth of his tongue all working together to set her body on fire until she was aggressively arching against him, nearly knocking him off the couch in her ardor.

Han caught himself just in time, though his mouth broke free from her neck with a pop of suction.  He looked down at her, meaning to make some comment on how she could manhandle him anytime, but it died on his lips when he saw the bruising on her skin. 

His eyes widened and he brought his hand up from her hip to carefully skirt over the marks with his fingertips.  She had a two blotches down the side of her neck, one over her throat, and another a couple of inches below her collarbone — all of them appearing especially dark and noticeable on her porcelain skin.  “This…might’ve been a mistake,” Han muttered.  “Didn’t mean to be so —”  So what?  Aggressive?  Overzealous?  Horny and gung-ho as a fourteen year-old boy with his first girl?  He went with, “I didn’t mean to do all _that_.”

At the guilt in his voice and his near-scandalized expression, Leia couldn’t help but laugh.  “What?  Is it really so bad?” she grinned, trying to see it for herself, but the angle proved impossible. 

Glancing around, Han’s eyes caught on the datapad they’d left discarded on the dejarik table.  It at least proved something of a reflective surface when the screen was off.  Snatching it up, he handed it to her.  “Here.”   

Outthinking him, as she often could, Leia went one better and with two flicks of her finger turned on the datapad’s holocam.  Peering down at the screen, she saw her admittedly wanton-looking image staring back:  mussed hair and skin conspicuously marred by Han’s mouth.  She had never had a passion mark before, let alone four of them at once; she never would have allowed such a thing.  However, she’d been witness to plenty.  During their time at University, Winter had once come home with a veritable star map of such bites along her neck. 

Han was right about hers, though; they did appear rather extreme.  Her aunts would have had apoplexies.  Her father probably wouldn’t have fared much better.  Her mother would have told her to be more prudent next time.  Leia, though, didn’t feel any of those things.  Seeing his literal mark on her, she felt erotic, desired — and somehow, interestingly enough, like it flaunted some kind of possession of _Han_ , though the marks were on her body.    

Anticipating a different reaction from her, Han muttered a rueful, “Sorry”, preparing for what he reckoned was a deserved scolding. 

“Don’t be,” Leia told him.  “I _love_ it.”

“You lo—”  His brows shot up in surprise.  “ _You_ do?  The woman who used to get all jittery if I so much as slung an arm around her in public?”

“This was more enjoyable.”  She smirked, giving a little giggle.  “And it’s not as if there’s anyone here to notice.”

Han nodded; _that_ made more sense.  “But in the future, do it a little lower,” he replied knowingly.  “Under your shirt, where no one can see.”

The suggestion sent a shock of something hot and electric zipping through to Leia’s still-throbbing core.  “Beneath my shirt,” she reiterated slowly.  The prospect tantalized, yes, but it also left her feeling undeniably unsettled, an uneasiness that was quickly winning out.

Noting the gallaze-in-the-speeder-lights look in her eyes, Han walked it back.  “Don’t have to be _far_ under, just enough to be out of sight.  I wasn’t sayin’ — I mean, you know, it can still be above your bra; you can still leave it on.  Next time.”

“You want to do that the next time,” she repeated, processing that.  ‘Next time’ wasn’t some nebulous future but imminent, _soon_.

“Yeah.”  Han was quick to add, “If — if you want.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, putting on her best diplomatic face.  “I suppose we’ll…see what happens.” 

He nodded and kissed her lips lightly.  “‘S about time to relieve Chewie,” he told her, getting up from the couch.  He didn’t notice Leia biting her lip apprehensively as he left.   

 


	6. Serendipity, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters make mention of events from Leia's and Han's past so I thought I would take this time to clarify my headcanon.
> 
> The only thing I adhere to 100% is the original trilogy films. Everything else I pick and choose from like a grab bag, adopting the things I like and ignoring the things I don't. That relates in the following ways to the particular subjects I'll be bringing up:
> 
> (1) Han never knew his father and was raised by a single mother, Jaina Solo, until the time of her illness and death when Han was somewhere around 8-9 years old. From there, he was discovered on the streets and taken in by Garris Shrike to live aboard Trader's Luck with Shrike's band of pickpocketing orphans, where he encountered the Wookiee, Dewlanna, who would become a mother figure to him. That part is pretty much exactly like the EU/Legends, however in my headcanon: Han is an older child (if memory serves me, he was 2 in the EU when Shrike found him surviving on the streets alone, which I thought was ridiculous); Han was always aware of where he came from and who his mother was; no long-lost Corellian royal connections exist; and 'Solo' is his actual surname.
> 
> (2) Nothing from the film Solo exits. Neither do Bey as a big brother figure to Han (I don't see Han as having one of those until he meets Chewie) or Bria Tharen. I adhere to the rest of the EU events surroundings Han's eventual escape from Shrike, Dewlanna's fate, and Han entering the Imperial Academy as a way to get off Corellia and become a star pilot, until his eventual expulsion and beating near to dear for saving Chewbacca.
> 
> (3) Leia always knew she was adopted (though, of course, she had no idea who her biological parents were). I do follow the idea of Leia being raised alongside the orphaned Winter Celchu, but from the time they were about 11-12. I also see there being a very clear line of Winter not being Bail and Breha's daughter, as she already had parents whom she loved and cherished and continued to view as her parents, while viewing Bail and Breha more like an aunt and uncle. To the outside world at large, there was a huge demarcation between Leia as the "royal" and Winter as their ward but one who did not have the mantle of privilege or duty of the Royal Princess.
> 
> (4) I don't follow the notion that Leia was a tomboy who liked to run wild and had to be under constant check of her parents, aunts, security, etc., as I see Leia being crucially and constantly aware of the responsibility of her people, her planet, and its reputation. Also, while I'm sure Leia did have normal adolescent crushes here and there growing up, Kier Domadi or any other specific EU or new canon love interests do not exist.
> 
> Now, back into the story!

* * *

**Serendipity**

(n.) the development of events in an unplanned but happy and beneficial way; finding something delightful when you are not looking for it

* * *

 

That night, well past when they had all turned in, Han heard stirring out in the crew quarters and got up to see what was going on.  Not wanting to startle her, he called to Leia first, but when he left his cabin and entered the adjoining one she wasn’t in the room. 

It didn’t surprise him.  He knew she was having trouble sleeping in the crew bunks, and for once he didn’t think nightmares were to blame.  Several nights and early mornings, he’d found Leia shivering from the cold, and while he’d loved to tease her back on Echo about his superior Corellian genes making him impervious to the cold, truth be told, space was a freezing vacuum that made Hoth look like Tatooine.  One was completely reliant on a starship’s life support systems to make space travel possible, and due to the unexpected nature of this particular voyage, they had collectively decided to turn down the heating at night to conserve resources.  It wasn’t a necessity at this point, but the _Falcon_ could be buggy at the best of times and she’d recently sustained substantial damage.  If the ship’s enviro systems were to become overtaxed and diminish in capacity or completely break down while they were stuck out here on sublights, the consequences would be dire.  They’d all agreed it seemed better to be safe than sorry.  However, Leia appeared to be taking the brunt of it. 

Of course, conditions aboard his beloved ship were still far from meager.  Each bunk had a built-in heating unit in addition to the _Falcon’s_ whole-vessel system, but Leia was an incredibly slight woman and even turned up to full blast she couldn’t seem to keep warm.

The first time he saw her suffering, Han had tried to fix it for her, get her to take his cabin after all, or at the very least work out a system of sharing every other night.  She had frustratingly rebuffed every attempt he made, either downplaying her discomfort or flat-out refusing to discuss it.  Discovering now that it had driven her from sleep yet another night was the final straw.  He hastily threw on a shirt, the only concession _he_ made to the chill of the night cycle air, and set out after Leia. 

As he walked through the ship on a quest to find her — she’d likely either gone in search of further blankets or a warm drink to heat her up — Han determined that she _would_ be taking his room from tonight on.  He was aware that was sure to bring on an argument, and granted, his bunk had an identical heating unit that could go no higher than hers, but his bed was more recessed and offered the additional protection of being in a closed-off cabin that could hold the heat of the day.  At any rate, it was the best solution he could come up with, and he’d be unswervingly persistent in his efforts to make her see reason.  If need be, she would quickly find him to be equally as stubborn as she.

As predicted, he found Leia quaking behind the dejarik table, bundled up to her neck in the ship’s thickest blankets.  With her legs and feet tucked up beneath her too, she was just a little braided head popping out of soft Kashyyyk wool, but shaking so much she looked like a vibrocell with a short in it.

“Aw, Sweetheart, come here.”  He sat down beside her, wrapping himself around her and gathering her close against his body heat. 

She was cold enough that she burrowed into him without protest, nestling her icy nose into his neck.  Han rubbed his hands up and down her blanketed arms, hoping to encourage blood flow and help him in his efforts to warm her.  Seeing her as bad off as this, he knew just taking his cabin wouldn’t be enough, but for now, he was focused on easing her current distress.  

When she’d finally stopped violently shivering in his arms, Han eased back to look at her, making sure the blankets were still tight around her.  She was no longer quivering with cold, but he noted as he slid away from her that her hands were still freezing. 

Leia whimpered in protest as her personal Corellian heater moved further and further away.  It may be an exaggeration out of a moment of extreme discomfort but it seemed certain she’d never before been that cold — and he was so deliciously warm and soothing and _Han_.  Her brain was too chilled at the moment to register the concept of pride and she reached out for him, begging, “Don’t go.” 

“‘M just heading to the galley to get you somethin’ hot to drink.  What’ll it be:  Alderaanian tea or cocoa?”

“Cocoa please,” she answered, catching his hand to thaw hers out against his warm palm.

Han smiled, closing his fist around her fingers to heat them.  “You want regular or Kashyyyk-style?”  The Rogues called it Hoth chocolate, but it was really just a spiced cocoa; back on Echo, sometimes mixed with tauntaun milk, sometimes served plain.  It was a staple Life Day drink and therefore old-hat to Han, but the Rebels were fanatic about it.  Like her caf, though, Leia usually preferred her cocoa straight-up.

“Regular,” she confirmed. 

He got up from the couch and started to go, but she tugged him back by his hand.  “Wait for me; I’m coming with you,” Leia decided, pushing her feet out from their blanketed cocoon to land on the _Falcon’s_ deck.  Hurrying to stand, she cuddled herself back against his chest and all his warmth.  “You’re just going to have to learn to make cocoa _around_ my body — because I’m not letting you go.”

Smirking, Han wrapped both arms around her, holding her to him.  “That’s a hardship I think I can manage.”

* * *

Once he had them settled back at the acceleration couch, each with a mug of cocoa now in hand — Leia’s half-gone despite the beverage still seeming scalding to him — Han took quiet stock of her.  She at last appeared back to normal:  no shaking, skin the standard temperature, and a healthy pink tint returned to her lips.  That was all fine and good, but this still couldn’t go on.

“Okay, I know we already had this out once,” he began, bracing himself for the coming quarrel, “but you’re _miserable_ , Leia.  Fuck propriety; tonight and from now on, you’re sleeping next to one of us.  Me or Chewie, you decide.” 

“Threepio’s not an option?”

Her soft, playful reply wasn’t what Han had expected, but he would happily take this response over the resistance he’d anticipated.  “Didn’t know you went that way, Sweetheart, but I’ll make it a mental note of it:  _Princess Leia has a droid fetish_.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes at him.  “You’re a nut.” 

“Ain’t much cold metal’s gonna do to keep you warm, though.  Nah, it’s me or Chewie.  But I warn you, Chewie sheds in his sleep.”

“So do I,” she quipped, waving the end of her loose sleep braid at him.  Han laughed, and Leia grinned at him as she took another long drink of refreshingly warm cocoa.

“Seriously, you gotta look after yourself.  If not, then look at _me_ ,” he tried switching tactics.  “How’s it gonna look to High Command if I bring you back a princess-cicle?”

He was right and Leia knew it; she _couldn’t_ go on this way, and it only made sense for her to bunk with him.  His bed was more spacious, his room a lot nicer, and he’d certainly proved himself capable of heating her up.  “All right, Han.  I’ll sleep with you.”

“Okay, so it’s settled.”  A loaded silence fell after that, one Han itched to break.  Something about the look on her face made him feel oddly guilty, though he didn’t know why.  He wanted her to be warm, yes, but he also wanted her to feel comfortable, not like he’d bullied her into this or was expecting anything more out of it.  “An — and you can bring your pillow, blankets, whatever you want,” he affixed, hoping that if she made herself at home in his room that might help ease the tension.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

They fell into quiet again, only this one didn’t feel quite so anxious to him.  He figured maybe she’d just like them to finish their cocoa in companionable silence.

Leia, however, was lost in thought.  His solution made every bit of sense on a practical level — she could even store her clothes in his closet rather than folded up in piles on the spare bunk.  Yet, Han’s unfailing ability to heat her up in the less literal sense was the very reason she hadn’t been sharing his bed from the start of their journey.  She knew what would follow if she did.

It had already become more and more difficult to say their goodbyes at night.  Truth be told, she’d _like_ to share the bunk with Han.  Once she’d gotten past the initial shyness and embarrassment, she’d long enjoyed the comfort and feeling of safety in sleeping beside him on missions.  But she acutely recognized that sleeping beside Han now would likely lead to more than just sleeping — and it had been _just a standard week_. 

Leia’s heart sped in a panicked rhythm at the very thought. 

A mere week!  She couldn’t move that fast. 

She couldn’t go from not even admitting that she _might_ have feelings for Han to having him inside her, all in the space of only a few days.  She was too cautious and judicious a person for that.  Especially after the trauma of Ord Mantell, when she’d _tried_ to boldly take that leap, tried for once in her life to be open and spontaneous, only for it to lead to disaster and Han’s determination to actually leave. 

Her heart wasn’t prepared to act so impulsively again.  It would take longer than this, with some middle ground, some steps in between _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ and actual sex.

Because of that conviction, Leia knew that accepting Han’s offer of a shared bunk must first mean an awkward but necessary conversation with him. 

It was going to come up sooner or later, anyway.  Honestly, with the way they were lately, probably sooner.  She might as well buck up and deal with it now.  Organas never shrank from a challenge, all the _more_ so when they felt unnerved or outside of their depth; her father had taught her that.

“Han,” Leia tentatively began, searching for how to best word the deeply personal disclosure.  This was far from the Senate floor, and oh so much more delicate than galactic trade relations.  “I want to talk to you about something.  Not really ‘want’.  Actually, far from ‘want’,” she corrected ruefully.  “But _need_.  I need to talk to you about this.”

“Okay…”  Han tried to keep his tone carefully even but her setup wasn’t exactly encouraging.  It left him downright nervous over what she felt she _had_ to say yet did not want to reveal.

Leia pivoted on the coach to better face him; another thing Bail had taught her was to face her problems head-on — though she was certain her father, even in remembered advice, would want nowhere near the conversation she was about to have. 

“I think I need to tell you that…all things considered, and with your —”  What?  His reputation?  His renowned proficiency?  His supposedly debauched past?  She settled for waving a hand over him.  “With all that.”  Wearing one of his infamous shirts that stayed open to mid-chest and a pair of form-hugging sleep pants slung low on his hips, hair rumpled and fresh from bed, he looked every bit the scoundrel seducer he was purported to be.  “What I’m trying to say is that I…I’m not exactly… _experienced_.  With these things.”  She looked to him meaningfully, hoping he’d gotten the gist of that and it was as detailed as she would need to be.

Han let out a sigh of relief.  “Is that all?  I thought it was gonna be somethin’ bad.”  He grinned, reassured.  “Sweetheart, I’m glad you said that.  ‘Cos ‘m not experienced with it, either.”  He cast his eyes to the side uncomfortably before forcing them back to meet hers, looking uncommonly self-conscious.  “Truth is, I’ve never been in a real relationship before.”

He’d misunderstood her, she instantly knew, but his statement — or what it implicitly implied — nevertheless made Leia happy.  “Is _that_ what we’re in?” she coyly inquired.

Han looked all nervous again, almost shy, as he told her, “I’d say so.”

It reminded her of his expression, one she’d never forget, on the morning he’d come to the Command Center to say goodbye to her before leaving Hoth.  It made her think now that perhaps she’d misjudged the entire encounter and Han hadn’t been smug or trying to throw her feelings in her face to get some sort of trophy confirmation.  He’d been _apprehensive_ , and anxiously hopeful of receiving a tender sendoff from her before walking into certain danger.

Leia swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat and took his hand.  “I’d say that, too,” she assured him.

“Good,” Han answered with a smirk, and he brought her hand up to kiss the inside of her wrist.  “That’s _really_ good,” he added, going back for seconds, sliding his hand around to the back of hers to press two additional kisses into her palm.  “Like I said, I’ve never done an actual relationship.”  His eyes sparked mischief and he waggled his brows at her suggestively.  “You’re my first.  And I gotta admit, Princess, I’ve been a little afraid I was gonna mess things up.  Break some royal protocol — or, hells, just plain female protocol.  I don’t know.”  He threw his hands up.  “These are uncharted skies for me.”

“They are for me, too, Han.  I’ve never been in a relationship, either.”

_“You_?  Come on,” he said in disbelief.  “ _Never_?”

“No.”  She shook her head, amused at his incredulity.

“Aw, I find it hard to believe there wasn’t a line of princes knocking on your door.”

“There were a few, yes.  Princes and otherwise.”

“But no spacers,” Han put in, setting his jaw.  “No two-bit smugglers callin’ on you — _that_ I can bet.”

“Two-bit?” Leia countered, weaving her fingers through his.  “And here I thought you had quite the operation.  What happened to ‘might not seem like much but you’ve got it where it counts’?  I believe that was the guarantee.”  Now she was the one to bring his hand to her mouth, placing kisses over each knuckle.  “But no, there were no smugglers or spacers.  Not any princes or nobility, either.  Not really.  At least nothing official, no courtship.  Nothing _I_ would call a relationship.”

“Well, alright,” he resolved jauntily.  “I’ll be your first, and you’ll be mine.  And if we mess somethin’ up, maybe we’re both so green neither of us’ll notice!”

She laughed warmly.  “I think that’s a good plan.” 

“Whaddya say we get started on it, then?”  Han gave her his bawdiest wink and leaned in to kiss her, but she put a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly stopping him.

He looked to her in question.  Leia tactfully cleared her throat, trying again.  “It is a good plan, Han.  But that wasn’t the sort of inexperience I was referring to.  I wasn’t talking about relationships, necessarily.  I — I meant that I’ve….” 

She hesitated, reluctant to voice it aloud, knowing it would change the way he perceived her.  It was her mother’s voice she heard in her head this time, spurring her on:  _Out with it, my Leia; the reaction can’t be as bad as you imagine_.  “I’ve never had a lover before,” Leia told him frankly, feeling herself quite brave.

Han was confused; he thought they’d just pretty well covered not ever having a significant other.  “How’s that different than a rela—”  And then the information fully processed:  a lover.  _She meant, as in,_ sex _with a lover_ , he quickly worked out. 

Leia was all but positive Han understood now — she could see the dawning light in his eyes — but to be certain, she more bluntly spelled it out.  “I’ve never _been with_ anyone before.”

_Yep, she absolutely meant sex_ , Han thought, and his eyebrow went up just a tad before he could check it.  “Ever?”

“Never.”

“You’re a ––”  He stopped short, as if to utter the word would be offensive to her.

“I’m a virgin.  You can say it, Han.”

“A virgin.  Huh.”

He looked her up and down, she was certain involuntarily.  But that’s what she _hated_ about this; people knowing it always made them see her differently.  “It’s not that I’m a prude.”  She wanted that established right away.

Han met her eyes sharply at that, sensing troubled waters.  “Never said you were.”

“I’m not an oddity, or an antiquity.  I’m not some relic from another time.  And don’t you dare blame Alderaan.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not _blaming_ anyone,” he said cautiously.

Leia shook her head at herself.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s possible I may be a bit defensive about this.  But it’s a…sensitive matter — and when it comes to matters of sex, people often misunderstand and jump to the wrong conclusions.  It was not a requirement on my home planet.  Alderaan had very progressive sexual views.  It had nothing to do with —”  She took a breath, releasing it heavily, stopping herself before she fell into the involuntary reflex of defending her lost planet.  “It’s complicated.” 

It was evident to Han that the whole topic made her uncomfortable, the same way he imagined he’d be if he had to start listing off _his_ sexual history.  “Look, Leia, you don’t gotta explain anything to me.  What you do or don’t do ain’t nobody’s business but your own.”

“It’s sort of yours now, too, isn’t it?  I mean…if we ever….”  She looked away, her cheeks coloring in a deep blush.  When she looked back at him, Han was waiting patiently and gave her an encouraging smile.  “I don’t like telling people,” Leia admitted, “but if we’re going to be together, I think it’s something you should know.  I think you should also know why.”

“Okay.”  Han nodded supportively.  “Whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear.”

_Where to even start_ , Leia wondered.  She was known for her polished, impassioned delivery, but on the Senate floor she had always been prepared, routinely rehearsing and re-rehearsing speeches and policy ad nauseam.  This was a conversation she’d never worked out or even once imagined.  “To be clear, I wasn’t oppressed.  My virginity wasn’t something I was forced or pressured to maintain.  The fact that I’ve never had sex with anyone has been entirely my own choice, and no one else’s.” 

“That I believe,” he responded with a smile.  “No one’s ever _made_ Leia Organa do anything a day in her life.”

She smiled back, pleased that he appreciated that about her.  Of course that it was all _her_ doing brought things back to the whole prude misconception.  “It’s not that I’m against it, sex.  I have the same feelings and desires as everyone else.”

Han nearly stopped her there — wanting to hear all about her desires, in great detail — but he wisely stayed silent, knowing this was her time to speak, her truth to tell.

“I _feel_ everything the same, I’ve just always known there were things of greater importance than my feelings.  Not that I was selfless all the time,” Leia clarified.  “I had my own pursuits, enjoyments, and frivolities like anyone else.  Believe it or not, I used to be funny — I used to _enjoy_ fun.” 

“‘S not hard to believe,” he cut in.  “Anyone who _really_ knows you knows there’s no ‘used to’ about it.  You still are; you still do.  You just gotta _let_ yourself.”

“That was easier before Alderaan.”  An understatement if there ever was one, and conceded heavily enough that it prompted Han to take her hand and soothingly rub his thumb over the back of it.  “Even then, going all the way back to when I was a little girl, I could — I know it sounds crazy, but I could _sense_ I was destined for more.  I knew there were important things happening, and I wanted to be a part of them.  I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps.  _I_ wanted to help end suffering and restore peace.  That goal only further solidified in my adolescence.  I wasn’t immune to the changes that came with puberty; there were boys of varying degrees of interest, but none who managed to truly turn my head.  My focus was on larger things.  It always seemed — the way it does, I suppose, when you’re very young — that I had all the time in the world to get to that.  But how could I be concerned with such a trivial thing as what boy to see when the entire galaxy was falling apart?  So while other young women of my age and social standing were planning their debutante balls, I was planning my Senate campaign.  Can you honestly see me at a debutante ball, anyway?” Leia asked with a laugh. 

“You’d’ve blasted the first guy who looked at you funny,” Han smirked.

“Yes, I’m half convinced that’s what my father had in mind when he saw to my self-defense and marksmanship training,” she grinned.  “No, debutante balls and I were never meant to be.  But before you go thinking I’m so angelically altruistic, even if the galaxy had been at peace I still wouldn’t have had any interest in displaying myself in some marriage market.  And it wasn’t only the tiresomeness of royal courtships that put me off.  I didn’t have much in common with potential suitors; we had entirely different priorities.  I’m self-aware enough to realize I was an outsider amongst my peers, in a way that had nothing to do with being a princess.  I started at University years ahead of schedule.  I was running for office before I would have even graduated had I stayed in the traditional program.  I spent more time around men my father’s age, or older, than anyone my own.”

“I can picture that, Young Leia in conference with a bunch of white-haired Dodonnas,” Han chuckled.  “Later, scouring the Net for more info, huddled over her datapad with a stylus in one hand and a huge cup of caf in the other.  No idle holovision for you.”

“Something like that, yes,” she fondly confirmed.  “Not to say my choice was primarily due to lack of opportunity.  That was an issue, but there were much bigger obstacles because of who I was:  the _princess_ , successor of the Alderaanian Royal Families and heir to the throne.  That alone made me potential fodder for holoreporters.  I led a life in the public eye; it made me a person of interest.  Add on that I was the youngest ever member of the Galactic Senate and it exponentially compounded the holotabloid interest.  _Anyone_ could have been trying to take advantage of me.  Beyond the normal ways that men try to take advantage of inexperienced women, that is,” Leia wryly adjoined. 

“Having a lover would have meant giving a man unprecedented access — not just to my body, but to _myself_ — and that would have been undeniably risky.  He might have taken a compromising holo to sell.  Or, Force forbid, made a holorecording.  He may have stolen something from my apartments:  trinkets to prove an intimate connection, or something far more sinister than that.  A man may have attempted to bed me to manipulate me, to gain undue political influence in Alderaan or in the Senate.”  Leia used taking another sip of cocoa as an excuse to eye Han consideringly, trying to gauge his reaction.  “I realize that sexual espionage may sound extreme, but that’s—”

“Not extreme at all,” Han interrupted her, shaking his head to the contrary.  “High or low born, Worship, sex is used as a tool of manipulation everywhere.”

“So you see what I mean,” Leia approved.  “Even sex that’s kept purely physical still requires a degree of trust and vulnerability.  Letting another person see you, _experience_ you, in the throes of passion with all your guards down?  Knowing the intimate details of your body, the expressions and sounds you make?  That’s blackmail potential all by itself.  Even without any holos, someone could write a novel or an article.  And that’s not even getting into the dangers the Empire posed.  They wouldn’t have been above sending someone in that way, to infiltrate the daughter of the man suspected to be a leader of the Rebellion — a daughter who eventually became suspected of being a spy herself.”

“The Empire ain’t above anything, we both know that,” Han agreed.

“It only made sense to be cautious,” she went on, thrilled that he didn’t appear to think her rationale paranoid or extreme.  “From infancy, I was raised to be conscious of those who might try to take advantage of me:  my name, my position.  When I got close to being of age, my aunts began lecturing me all about the dangers of a —”  Leia rolled her eyes in tolerant memory of the well-meaning but intrusive sisters of her father.  “They called it ‘romantic’ but they meant ‘sex’ scandal.  My position put me at unique risk of, at best, embarrassing my family, my people, and my planet.  At worst, putting their lives in danger.  I got that talk from them yearly — monthly, once I went to live on my own at University and then in the Senate — but it wasn’t a warning that was needed.  I’d always keenly felt the weight of my responsibilities.”

She saw Han’s eyes sharpen at that; riled, she speculated, at the idea of so many encumbrances being placed on someone so young.  Perhaps, too, at the concept of existing all her life under such heavy scrutiny. 

“Please don’t get the wrong idea,” Leia cautioned.  “My choice wasn’t unduly influenced by my aunts.  They weren’t telling me anything I wasn’t already aware of.  Although it’s true they were conservative and old-fashioned, personally supporting celibacy before marriage, what they preached to me was _caution_ and how to cover one’s tracks.  If anything, their lectures made it possible for me to have gotten away with an affair undetected.” 

Yes, she wanted him to understand the risks — the things beyond her control that had held her back and made her more reticent of pursing romantic and sexual relationships — but what Leia needed Han to know was that it had come down to _her:_   her limits, her boundaries.  Knowing that, he may better appreciate how, even limited as it had thus far been, what she was undertaking with him was so momentous. 

“There was a lot — a _lot_ — to consider in when and how and with whom to become intimate, but it was ultimately only my own decision not to.  There may not have been as much freedom or opportunity as other women my age, but there was enough that I _could_ have had a lover if I’d wanted to.”  Leia’s eyes held Han’s fixedly as she got to the very heart of it.  “The truth is, my priorities being what they were, and given the complications, there was honestly never anyone I found to be worth the risk.  I suppose I just never wanted anyone enough.  Until you.” 

She smiled up at him, somewhat shyly given all she had just imparted — deeply personal things she’d scarcely told anyone, and never any man.  Then Han’s hand found its way around hers against her mug and it warmed Leia from the inside out more than the drink ever could.  It was an easy decision to let go of it and hold onto him instead. 

“I hadn’t planned on you.  In fact, you were distinctly against everything I’d planned,” she told him, her lips quirking at the ironic folly of trying to rigidly plot her future, an all the more ridiculous prospect in such tumultuous times.  “You weren’t what I thought I wanted.”  Perhaps a person wasn’t meant to say that to their lover, she pondered, but it was the truth nonetheless, and he already knew it.  “You’ve been here the past years; there’s no point in lying.  Finding you happened at the most inconvenient time, under nearly impossible circumstances, and I fought against it with every fiber of my being.” 

“But I have no regrets,” Leia vowed, lacing their fingers together against the dejarik table.  “You were a difficult to reconcile but oh- _so_ -needed change of plans.”  She laughed at herself, able to find amusement now in what had once tortured her so.  “And suddenly I found myself wanting something more than seeing Vader taken down, more than watching the Empire pay for all it’s done.  For the first time, despite all the complications, I _want_ to invite someone into my bed.  And the surprising thing is, I find I love that feeling.  You, Han Solo, are sexual serendipity.”

For all his bluster over the years about how madly in love with him she was, it was difficult for Han to wrap his mind around what Leia was telling him.  It was hard enough for him to believe she was actually agreeing to any sort of non-platonic involvement with him.  The reality of Leia wanting him in the same way he wanted her, wanting to take him into her bed and share her body with him, that alone was something he was still acclimating  himself to; that it was _real_ , that it was actually happening and not just another of his hopeless fantasies.  And now hearing this, that her desire for him was so singular, the feelings he engendered in her so wholly unique that he’d made her want and feel things no one else ever had….As true as all those same things were for him with her, it was impossible _not_ to find it gratifying and unequivocally thrilling on a level Han almost couldn’t fathom. 

“Well, I — honey, I’m flattered.”  That didn’t do it justice, the honor and privilege of the greatest woman in the galaxy only ever wanting him, but it was the closest he could come to it in words for a man who lacked her eloquence. 

Flattered he was, though he was also compelled to immediately make it clear he wouldn’t ever exploit that privilege.  Even if he had it in him to be that despicable — which he didn’t, never had; never once had taken advantage of any woman — he so particularly loved and respected Leia that the idea of dishonoring her was inconceivable.  “And you must know by now, I’d never do any of those things to you.  A sex scandal or whatever.  I’m not a risk,” he promised her. 

“No, I know you’re not,” Leia wholeheartedly affirmed.  Yet, she couldn’t keep from adding, “You’re not a risk of _that_.”

“But of leavin’ you,” Han nodded, resigned.  It was the point of contention they’d had out a million times since he’d met her, and it was nowhere near resolved.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she answered, quick and adamant, shaking her head against facts she didn’t want to face.  “I don’t want us to fight.  The point is I simply made the choices I made because they were best for me and my situation.”  She exhaled deeply, eyeing him carefully.  “But that means I do find myself a virgin in her twenties.  The question is:  are you shocked by that?”

“Not… _shocked_ , no.  Gotta say ‘m a little surprised.  It’s not like I thought you were bed-hoppin’ through Coruscant, but I’d’ve figured — a woman of your age and background? — there’d have been at least a few guys here and there, at University or in the Senate.  But now that I think about it,” he qualified, “what you said, someone in your position?  It makes a lot of sense not to.  And hells, you did more to help people than most being three times your age.  Who’s got time to worry about their love life when they’ve got a galaxy to save, right?”

“Yes.  Exactly.  In the meantime, I never expected to encounter you or all that goes along with _us_.”

“I’m right there with you in that,” he rejoined, still bowled away by it all.

Leia squeezed his hand fondly but wasn’t ready to put the topic to a close.  She hadn’t yet had all the confirmation she needed from him.  “So you’re not shocked, but does it….”  She took a long fortifying breath, telling herself it would be all right if he was put-off; she’d always expected a man to be.  “….does it _bother_ you?”

Han’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Why would it bother me?”  The question wasn’t rhetorical; he truly didn’t understand why she seemed to think it could. 

She swallowed heavily, reluctant to have all her vulnerability laid bare.  “Well….becoming involved with someone who’s never — being someone’s _first_ , I imagine that would make it seem much more serious to their partner.  And lacking practice in that area, it would follow that the inexperienced person wouldn’t have the same skill set as—”  

“Sweetheart,” he stopped her with a tender smile, “I was pretty damn serious to begin with.  If you’re tryin’ to put me off, you’re gonna have to do better than that.  So you need an initiation into sex — you think that’ll _bother_ me?  Are you kiddin’?  That’s like a holoporn.” 

Han knew immediately by her expression that he shouldn’t have said that last part out loud.  She withdrew her hand from his and coolly replied, “I don’t need you to initiate me into anything, thank you very much.”

“‘M sorry, Leia.  Kriff, I’m an idiot.  I _do_ make it difficult, don’t I?” he expressed, ruefully.  That brought her eyes back to his so he continued hopefully, “I swear I didn’t mean anything bad by it.  I’m just sayin’ if you’re worried about a gap in experience levels, that’s nothin’ we can’t easily handle.”

“What makes you think there’s a gap?” she countered defiantly. 

“You just said you’re a—”

“Just because I’ve never had a lover doesn’t mean I’m _asexual_.  I’ll have you know that while my aunts lectured all about the dangers, my mother on the other hand…”  Leia let that trail off baitingly, an affectionate spark in her eye for the intrepid, free-spirited woman her mother had been.  “She didn’t diminish the truth of those risks — particularly when it came to the Empire and my involvement with the Rebellion — but while my aunts talked scandal and how to prevent it, my mother showed me how to make it unnecessary in the first place.”

“I don’t wanna step in it any further here, Worship,” Han trod prudently, “but can I ask, what does _that_ mean?” 

She leaned in conspiratorially, though there wasn’t anyone else in the room to overhear them.  “It’s something of a longstanding secret passed among women of royalty, politics, and position to avoid the temptation of getting involved altogether by…shall we say, taking care of matters oneself.”  As predicted, Han looked a bit stupefied by that.  “While my mother didn’t agree with _never_ getting involved, she believed women shouldn’t be beholden to or reliant on any man simply to satisfy very human, very natural impulses and desires; that a woman needn’t take a lover purely to experience that kind of gratification when it was well within her own power to give herself such pleasures.”  Leia said the next part confidently, almost bragging, delighted with the knowledge that _this_ surely would shock him — she was fairly certain she was about to knock his socks off.  “And my mother educated me in that vein.”

“Wait, wait-wait, wait a minute.”  Han _had_ to interrupt here, tactful or not.  “Let me get this straight:  are you saying your mother, the Queen of Alderaan, taught you how to masturbate?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he waved off the difference, rapt with interest, “but that’s what happened?”

“It’s not as if she sat me down and demonstrated.  But she did encourage…self-exploration.”  Leia’s cheeks pinkened, still finding it awkward to spell it out for him bit-by-bit, but she forced herself on, determined not to be embarrassed about this.  She knew what her mother would say, _had_ in fact said:  _If you can’t_ talk _candidly with a man about sex then you certainly can’t expect to enjoyably have it with him_. 

“My mother wasn’t just the queen, she was also the Minister of Education of Alderaan,” Leia went on, “and for her, ‘education’ had a broad range; she considered this to be merely another part of it.  Even on progressive planets like Alderaan, there was often still something of a biased taboo surrounding women’s sexual enlightenment that never was present for men.  One of her goals was to see that bias obliterated.  She wanted woman of _every_ station to be knowledgeable of sexual health as well as their own anatomy and what aroused them, so they could enjoy sexual fulfilment on par with any man, with or without a partner.” 

Boldly meeting his gaze, Leia divulged, “She gave me tips toward that end.”  With a mischievous twist of her lips, she added, “And when I was elected to the Senate, she gifted me with a discreet device to aid in that effort.”

“A — a _device_?” Han stammered.  Whether it was chivalrous to say so or not, this whole thing _was_ like the set-up of a holoporn — and he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be living it. 

“It had all the appearance of a compact mirror,” she revealed with a provocative grin, “so if anyone were to find it they’d be none the wiser.”

“Is it _here_?”  _He_ didn’t need to explore what aroused him; the thought of Leia and a device already had him there. 

“Yes, Han.”  She rolled her eyes sardonically.  “I escaped the Empire at Hoth with just the clothes on my back, but somehow I managed to take that.”

“Right, yeah, course,” he nodded gruffly, straining to rein himself back in, using the diversion of picking up his mug and taking several swigs to distract himself.

“No, my most personal belongings were destroyed with Alderaan, and I never recovered too much from my apartment at Coruscant.  That particular gift was lost long ago, and it’s not exactly something you petition High Command to requisition.”

Shavit, what he wouldn’t have given to be a flitnat on the wall for that hypothetical conversation!  Han was sidetracked from further ribald imaginings, however, by Leia’s next question:  “Besides, do _you_ need a device?”

He choked on his cocoa, half of it going down the wrong way and the other half ending up spattered over the table.  “Me?  Are you askin’ if _I_ ever use anything to get off?”

“I can guess what you use,” she retorted smartly.  Sliding away from him along the acceleration couch, she went to fetch a rag to clean up the mess.  Chewie wouldn’t take kindly to having his game board damaged, and she figured Han’s spit-take was at least half her fault. 

Having retrieved what she was looking for in his toolbox, Leia turned from where he’d left it beside the engineering station to wiggle her fingers at him pointedly.  “Nature gifted us all with our own devices; we don’t need anything additional.  And come now, Hotshot,” she tsked at him as if she’d expected more, “someone as inventive and resourceful as you are with the _Falcon’s_ repairs ought to know there are any number of objects in this room alone that could be improvised to that end if a person really wanted.”

“What objects?  _Which_ ones?  Be specific.  What would you use?” he blurted, utterly transfixed.

“Han, you’re getting off-track.”

“Well, hells, Leia,” he gaped, “you can’t just start talkin’ matter-of-fact about pleasurin’ yourself and not expect me to get a little distracted.”  He caught her hand as she wiped the table and tugged her back down to the couch beside him, now on his opposite side.

“Fair enough,” she allowed with a smirk, wriggling out of his grasp enough to deposit the cocoa-damp towel onto the floor.  “But you can see why I don’t need any introductions to sex.”

“Maybe….” 

She could tell by Han’s tone that his opinion was far from ending there.  “Maybe _what_?” Leia posed.  “What is it you’re avoiding saying?”

“Well, it ain’t the same, though, is it?”  Han’s brow rose challengingly and he pulled her in closer by the edges of the blanket still wrapped around her.  “You can’t kiss yourself — not where it really counts.  You can’t press up against yourself,” he whispered enticingly, doing just that.  “You always know where your hand’s goin’ next; no surprise, no anticipation, no erotic teasin’ there.  And Sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, “I could touch myself all night and it wouldn’t be anywhere close to the effect of a single touch from you.”

Leia’s stomach did a little flip at that, her heartrate answering in kind. 

“Hells, just a _swipe_ from one of your little fingers,” Han hummed, his lips soft against her lobe as he played with those fingers now, just the same as he had that afternoon in the circuity bay. 

The hitch in his breathing and the pick-up in her own told Leia things were quickly getting away from her.  This whole discussion had begun as a means of safeguarding a night spent in his bed — and all the nights to follow.  Yet here they were, somehow on the very perilous topic of touching themselves and one another. 

“I see what you mean,” she acknowledged, edging away enough to put a bit of space back between them.  “And it’s a valid point:  one _isn’t_ anything like the other.”  It had occurred to her, of course, but the difference never seemed as real as it did in this moment.  “Actually, I think I was bluffing before, Han,” she realized aloud.

“About which part?  Your mother?  All of it?”

“It’s all been true.  I think I was bluffing about the ‘gap in experience levels’ part.  That _is_ a concern of mine.” 

“And that’s why you told me?  So I’d — I don’t know…”  Han shrugged awkwardly.  “…be gentle?”

Leia laughed softly at that, grateful for the break in tension his shared discomfiture afforded.  “I wasn’t worried that you’d _hurt_ me.  I just — I know you must have been with women who’ve known exactly how to —”  She broke off, shaking her head, not really wanting to finish that statement.  Trying a different angle at the same implication, she said, “I’m a novice at…everything, _all_ of it, and I—”

“Sweetheart, are you trying to say ‘cos it’s your first time you think it won’t be _good_ for me?  _Kest_ ,” he swore incredulously.  “You can get that thought right outta your mind.  Princess, you could just breathe on my neck and it would already be the most satisfyin’ thing I _ever_ felt.”

“You’re sweet, but I find that hard to believe,” she scoffed.

“Believe it or don’t, you’ll find out.”  Whether that was a promise, a threat, or a warning, she wasn’t sure, but it was delivered with the urgency of a blaster quick-draw — and it sent the same bolt of electricity down her spine. 

“God, Leia, you leave me _undone_.”  Han’s concern had been just the opposite:  if he would be able to last long enough to satisfy her once she was naked against him; she had that strong of an effect on him, and he’d wanted her for so long.  “All you have to do is be there and it’s the hottest thing I could ever imagine.  But kriff, honey, why’re you worryin’ about _me_?  Your first time havin’ sex?”  The responsibility was all on him to make it good for her.  “You should be thinkin’ about how _I_ can please _you_.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Leia dismissed with a smile.  “Like you said, all you have to do is be there to get me going.”

Han grinned, and Leia let him pull her into a lingering kiss — one in which she indulged herself by absorbedly sucking his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth even as he straightened away.  “ _Undone_ ,” he rumbled in a breathless groan, his eyes falling down to her lips in a daze of hunger that he had to literally shake himself out of.

“For the record, Han, the reason I told you was in the interest of honesty, _and_ ,” she explained, catching his eyes significantly, “so that you’d understand why I’m not ready to go to bed with you just yet.  I know we’re not teenagers and I don’t want to sound juvenile, but—”

“Nothing juvenile about not wantin’ to jump into someone’s bunk,” he cut in, hoping to dispel that idea right quick.  “It’s the opposite of juvenile, Leia.  Treating sex too casually, offhanded — _that’s_ the juvenile thing.  Believe me; I know a little somethin’ about that.”

Leia wasn’t sure if that was an admission of a youth spent in heedless, impersonal sex; or maybe he was only saying that he used to _think_ of sex that way, but now no longer did.  She suspected it was a combination of both.  Either way, it was a reassuring adjustment, but not quite what she was getting at.  “Right, but you and I, we’re _not_ casual.  This thing between us has been going on for a long, long time.  It wouldn’t be exactly jumping; we both know that.  So I don’t want you to think I have some deeper sexual hang-up.  I don’t, it’s just —” 

She grasped for an explanation, something to put it into relatable terms.  “Well, take caf, for example.  To most people, drinking caf is just a regular, everyday thing.  Enjoyable, even needed, but still, a commonplace and routine part of life.  But when viewed in light of someone who’s _never_ tasted caf, it suddenly makes much more sense to place such emphasis on a seemingly ordinary, run-of-the-mill thing.  Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, I understand it fine, Leia.  I understand it more than you think.  That’s what I’m tryin’ to say here.  I don’t just mean I should’ve given sex more weight than I did, though that’s true.  I’m sayin’, knowing that about you?  I _never_ would’ve thought of havin’ sex with you as ordinary.  Not at _any_ time.  But — okay, yeah, let’s take caf,” Han invoked her example.  “So you fly around the galaxy and you find yourself wantin’ a cup of caf?  Alright, no big deal; just land on-planet and drink whatever caf you can find, whatever you can get.  After all, it’s just a regular part of life, nothin’ special there.  But if you _do_ find someone special, and that someone’s never had caf before?  Not even once?  When they want their first cup, you wanna give them the _best_ cup of caf there is.  ‘Cos you want their first experience with caf to be an enjoyable one.  And you want it to show all caf has to offer so they’ll get the right idea about caf — and, you know, so they’ll _like_ it; so they’ll see how kriffin’ _amazin’_ caf is and want to have another cup, and another and another.  So, yeah, I get why you’d place emphasis on that.  You should.  _I_ do.”

All of that was lovely, but it still sounded to Leia like his concerns were with making it a pleasurable first time for her, and that wasn’t the issue she was having.  “But it isn’t the act itself, that’s not why I’m — This isn’t maidenly fear, Han.  That’s what _I’m_ trying to say.  For me, this _isn’t_ everyday, and while you may have known me to be incautious at times about doing whatever it takes to help the Rebellion, in this, I _can’t_ be incautious.  I can’t go full speed ahead; I’m just not made that way.  I need time.  I need some levels in between.  You know the old saying:  learn to fly a speeder before you fly a starship.  I’m not ready to…to drink caf yet,” she fell back on their euphemism.  “Not even with you.  My whole life, long before the Death Star, has been spent in building boundaries.  I can’t tear them all down just like that — I tried on Ord Mantell and it led to a month of hell.  I need to ease my way into caf; maybe start with tea, work my up,” she quipped with a small smile, the analogy falling apart a bit since neither one knew what exactly ‘tea’ constituted.  “If that means you no longer what to share your actual bed with me,” she continued, “I understand.”

“Who’s being a nerfherder now?  I shared a bed with you plenty of times before I could so much as kiss you.  Why would I stop now?” Han instantly dispensed with that notion.  “Leia, I don’t need you to jump into bed with me.  Not gonna lie, it’d be nice,” he smirked devilishly, “but I don’t _need_ that.  Don’t even want that, not until you do.  I’m a patient man when I gotta be.  Willing and prepared to wait for you, for when it’s right for you.” 

Leia raised a dubious brow.  “Even though you’ve already been waiting years?” 

“Even though,” he confirmed, taking her hand again and looping it through the crook of his arm.  “It don’t matter how much I want caf, or how many cups I’ve had in the past, _you_ …you’re like Chewie’s caf.”

She blinked at him.  “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“No, Worship,” Han guffawed.  “I mean actual caf, as in roasted caf beans.  You know, back on Hoth?  We’d all wait — even walk all the way across the freezin’ base to the _Falcon_ — rather than drink what was on hand.  ‘Cos a pot of Chewie’s caf.…”  He looked to her leadingly, waiting for her to complete the thought.

“It had superior flavor,” she finished with a smile.

“Uh-huh.  And, Sweetheart, you’re the highest quality brew.”  He gave her a crooked grin and bent to kiss her forehead.  “I’ve already walked across — how many bases? I lost track.”

She shoved him playfully with her shoulder.  “Oh, just for my caf, hmm?”

“No, to save your princessly ass.  But yeah, I was hoping one day to get a taste of caf with you.  Everyone knew that; there were odds on it, for kest’s sake.”

Leia cocked her head wryly.  “Let’s not forget that a good deal of those bets revolved around how much _I_ wanted to get a taste of caf with you.  Everyone knew that, too.”

Beaming, Han kissed her temple this time.  “Thanks for sharing all this with me,” he told her, his lips still against her skin.  “I mean it, Princess.  I know it ain’t easy lettin’ boundaries fall.”

True, but her reasons were less noble than that, more of a necessity in her mind than to bond with him, and Leia told him as much.  “I _am_ glad you know, but I’ll admit, I wasn’t thinking of letting walls down between us.  It was something that would’ve _had_ to come up at some point…wouldn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”  He pulled back to meet her eyes, judge the expression on her face.  “If you’re askin’ if a guy would notice, he might not.” 

“ _You_ would have noticed,” Leia replied without a doubt.  “You’re too in tune to me not to.” 

Han put his hand over hers on his arm, his gaze earnest and direct.  “I’m in no hurry — I’m not talking about now — but when, _if_ , the time comes when you’re ready and you want to…”  He paused, tracing the fingers of his free hand over her face along her hairline.  “I _will_ make it good for you, Leia; I promise you that.”

Her answer was just as earnest, and laced with soft affection.  “I _know_ you will.”  With the magnitude with which she’d lusted after him these past years, Han wouldn’t need to do much to get her to ‘good’.  And even beyond her desire for him, she’d never once doubted she would enjoy intimacy with Han, if for nothing else than the way he’d always been so careful with her, so _mindful_ of her; she wouldn’t expect their sex life to be any different.

“I’m ready when you are, Sweetheart.  Till then, I’m fully okay takin’ things at whatever pace you set.  Just tell me if I overstep any boundaries with you.”

Leia shook her head.  “You wouldn’t do that,” she told him confidently. 

“Like to think so, but you got a way of drivin’ me beyond myself.  Just promise you’ll say somethin’ if you don’t like it — the _nanosecond_ you want me to stop.”

“All right, I promise.  But, Han, being inexperienced doesn’t make me a naïve innocent.  Promise _me_ you’ll remember that.”

Han laughed at the very idea.  “There ain’t a kriffin’ thing naïve about you, Princess.  Haven’t been able to get nothin’ over on you since our very first base — hells, since the Death Star.  I don’t care if you’ve been with a hundred men or none; doesn’t change the way I feel about you.  And you know,” he asserted with an amorous half-grin, “I think your mother had the right idea.”

Leia’s eyes sparkled expectantly.  “She did, hmm?  Which part?”

“The part about explorin’, figurin’ out what you like.  Only now, you can do it with me.  We can figure it out _together_.”  Before she got the wrong idea that he would try to press her, Han added, “Don’t gotta be naked.  There’s plenty of area in between — and lots you can get from it.”

“Such as?” she asked with a coyly teasing smile.

“Such as this,” he answered, kissing her with increasing passion as they cuddled together in the dimly lit hold.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Breha’s interactions with adolescent Leia on the actual mother of an acquaintance of mine who truly raised her daughter that way in real life, which was initially a shocking concept to younger me but now I find rather marvelous and wonderfully empowering.


	7. Peregrination, Part 1

* * *

Peregrination

(n.) a slow, wandering journey; a period of escape and exploration

* * *

 

Coming out of a peaceful, deep slumber, Leia’s first conscious awareness was of Han’s arm wrapped loosely about her waist as they lie spooned together in his bunk.  Though still wrapped in a sleepy haze, his presence brought memories of the evening before flooding back to her.  

It had been a _good_ night, and an important one; Han finding her in the lounge truly a godsend.  What an immense relief it was to have her sexual inexperience out there between them now, no longer something for her to wonder and worry about, how he would react and if it would change the way he thought of her. 

Leia fondly recalled Han’s effortless, sincere commitment to her resolve for a slow foray into exploring intimacy.  But it was remembering when they first went to bed together early this morning that had her smiling even as she continued to fully awaken….

 

> “You were right; this _is_ cozy, Han.”  Lying in his brushed flannel bantha wool sheets — a luxury he’d indulged in against the frigid temperatures of Hoth — Leia felt really and truly warm, in every sense of the word.  “Thank you, I’m so much warmer in here,” she told him around a yawn as he settled into the bunk beside her, giving her such a wide birth that she was fairly certain a portion of his knee must be hanging off the bed. 
> 
> She had been afraid revealing her virginity to Han would make him see her differently.  Maybe it had and maybe it hadn’t; everything between them was still so new, with boundaries blurred but still present, that he very well may have treated her the same way had that conversation not taken place.  Regardless, it was impossible to be irritated with him, despite the overly vigilant way he was acting.
> 
> Han being so meticulously careful that no parts of their bodies brushed beneath the covers, giving her as much room as physically possible, dropping her hand like fire and not so much as touching her from the moment they stepped over the threshold into his room — all despite having previously shared a bed countless times — was ridiculous, but he was so unintentionally adorable about it, so uncharacteristically cautious that she knew he must be trying his very hardest not to give the impression he was seeking sex, and that knowledge melted her too much to be annoyed with his needless behavior change.
> 
> “Sweetheart…” she heard him say from beside her.  “Can — can I come closer?”  His tone wasn’t only that of asking permission but as if he was _afraid_ of asking, of what her reaction to that might be.
> 
> “Yes,” she smiled, melting all the more over his sweet concern that such a gentle request might be perceived as overstepping.  And smiling a bit, too, to think of all the lectures they had individually endured from High Command before hotel stays alone on various missions; Command obviously had no clue the sort of man Han truly was, or the respect with which he held her in.
> 
> “I promise I’m not tryin’ anything,” he assured her, unnecessarily; the very idea hadn’t even entered her mind.  “Just thought it would be nice to hold you.”
> 
> “That _would_ be nice,” she answered softly, her heart in her throat as she snuggled into his side and he tentatively placed his arm over her back.

 

Leia reached down for Han’s arm now, wrapping it more closely around her, thinking herself a fool for not having slept in here with him the whole time.  She _had_ been initially nervous over the slippery-slope potential of sharing his bed now that they were involved, but that anxiety instantly faded discovering it was no different than lying beside him before:  the same safety, warmth, and comfort, only now with an even deeper closeness, knowing that feelings were indeed shared; able to revel in their affectionate connection rather than try to ignore it; free to drift off to sleep in a tender embrace without making any excuses.

“Mornin’, Princess,” Han drawled, soft and husky near her ear, drawing her from her musing and sending a shiver of pleasure skittering through her.  His fingers skimmed over her hipbone in response, his lips pressing the tiniest of kisses to her ear.  His other hand was already busy on her pillow, playing amongst the abundant pile of her hair gathered up above her head during the night to allow him to cuddle in closer. 

“Mm, morning,” Leia echoed, stretching languidly with the faintest little pleasant squeal as the kinks worked out of her muscles. 

Nothing more was said for a little while.  They just lay there contently while Han wound her hair over his wrist and into his hand where he worked at the ends, twirling and rubbing it between his fingers and generally luxuriating in its softness, in the privilege of being the only man who had ever gotten to enjoy it this way.

It was Leia who eventually broke the agreeable silence with a murmured sigh as she reached for his hand at her waist to link their fingers together.  “Maybe the Empire really did hit us back in the asteroid field.  Maybe this is heaven.”

“Nah, think there’d be less clothes in heaven.  Least in my heaven.”

She giggled sleepily at that.  “You are an absolute reprobate, Han.”

“But you’re crazy about me,” he averred, bending to nuzzle her neck.

“I am,” Leia admitted. 

She turned her head on the pillow to look over her shoulder at him, and when their eyes met, Han smiled serenely.  Lost in the depths of his hazel irises — more green than brown at the moment — she was able to pinpoint the very second, half a breath later, when a thought occurred to him.  Leia could almost _see_ it, like in a holocartoon where a glowrod suddenly illuminated above someone’s head. 

“Let’s stay in bed,” Han exclaimed inspiredly.  “All day.”

“What?” she laughed, that particular suggestion taking her by surprise.

“Why not?  We’ve got nowhere to go, nothin’ we gotta do.  Repairs can wait,” he reasoned.  “Eventually we’ll run out of those, anyway.  For once, Leia, let yourself be lazy.  Just lounge around with me.”

“That sounds…” 

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows as her ready responses — _There’s too much to be done; There’s a war to be won; We have to save the galaxy, or no one else will_ — died on her tongue.  None of them currently applied while floating uselessly through the Anoat system, and in their absence, she was happily astonished to discover that being lazy for once _was_ exceedingly appealing. 

“…wonderful.  Lounging around with you sounds wonderful.”

She rolled over onto her opposite side so they were face to face — front to front…lying in his bunk like a million fantasies come to fruition — and Leia was hit with a scintillating flash of intense wanting.  She sensed the same radiating off Han, and it was equal parts pull to satisfy that want and warning bells signaling _DANGER, DANGER_. 

“But not here.  Not like this,” she resolved, her inner alarms having won out.  She was saved the trouble of further explanation when interrupted by the loud growl of her stomach.  “And there’s that; I _am_ hungry.  Is that all right?”

“Alright?  Leia Organa voluntarily taking food breaks — then spending the day loafing?  I’m rubbing off on you already.” 

There was a spark in both sets of eyes at his unintentional but deeply felt double entendre, but Han didn’t make any jokes or say anything off-color.  He had read the hesitation in her a moment ago, saw misgivings replace desire on her face, so instead he jumped harmlessly ahead with, “And all I gotta do to experience this is take you to another room and feed you?”

“A cup of caf and the fresher first, too, please.”

“Deal,” he readily agreed.  “How ‘bout, while you’re in the fresher, I fix some jogan fruit hotcakes and a slice of last night’s spiceloaf?  Then while you’re eating, I’ll have my turn in the shower.  Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“No braids today.  Leave it down.  For me.”

“All right,” she smiled, setting her forehead to his and letting her eyes fall closed as she breathed him in.

Han brought his hand up to tenderly cup the side of her face, his long fingers burrowing into the hair near her temple.  “Can I have two things?” he tried his luck.

“Maybe even three or four.”  He was being so endearingly, Leia suspected she would give him nearly anything.

“Can I brush your hair?”

That brought her eyes open.  She propped herself up on her elbow, where she leaned over him in confusion.  Several of her silken strands fell down over his neck, and Han thought she must be right about this being heaven.  

“You want to brush my hair?” Leia repeated as if she doubted she had heard him correctly.

He nodded, unabashed, doubling down.  “Touch it, brush it, feel it all over my skin.”

“That one’s easy; just don’t wear a shirt to bed tonight.”

“You gonna use me as your pillow, Princess?”

“I just might.” 

She bent down, giving reign to an urge to kiss him, but there was a stronger instinct of self-protection that warned such a move could quickly spiral out of control, and it left Leia pulling back instead, climbing over him and out of the bunk.

More in her element vertically, safely distanced from the temptation of his warm bed and mussy-haired, early-morning Han, Leia felt only cheerful exuberance when she turned back to face him.  “Meet me in the lounge in twenty.  You bring the food; I’ll bring the hairbrush.”

* * *

On the evening of their day of being lazy, Han had another unconventional but inspiring idea.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t enjoyed their day.  They had, immensely.  But the _Falcon_ was only so big, and was also housing a Wookie and an overly loquacious droid who couldn’t take a hint if you literally handed it to him. 

What Han wanted for the rest of their night was a place where they could be alone — utterly and thoroughly.  Preferably, a place where no one could find them; it had only been a week, but he was already at his wits’ end with the interruptions.  So while Chewie made the night’s meal, the ship’s captain busied himself preparing Leia an after-dinner surprise.

And it certainly was a surprise.  

When Han told her back in the galley that he wanted to show her something, the last thing Leia expected was to be tossed down into one of the smuggling compartments.  The ring corridor’s concealed cavities had famously hidden Han, Chewie, Luke, and Obi-Wan Kenobi from stormtroopers while on the Death Star, and she herself even had occasion to hide there once while on an undercover mission where Han had been unable to keep inspectors off the ship.

Back then, however, the clandestine compartments had looked nothing like this.

Han had obviously been hard at work transforming this particular space from sparse and utilitarian to a warm and welcoming little hideaway.  Large enough to comfortably hold two men and a Wookiee, the smuggling nook he had chosen was roughly the size of one of her smaller closets back on Coruscant, with plenty of room for the two of them to stand together within it.  But the plan clearly was for them to recline and relax on the floor, as Han had brought down an array of pillows and blankets, piling and arranging them into a cozy nest where they could comfortably stretch out. 

In the center of their nest was, apparently, dessert:  an obligatory bottle of alcohol, a plate full of warra nut cookies, some choclime twists, and the last sweesonberry roll.  He had even fetched a small glowlamp to softly light the space, adding to the romantic ambience.

More than anything, this little haven — with Han stealthily replacing the ceiling tile, leaving no evidence they had sought sanctuary within — screamed ‘privacy’.  The promise of no interruptions.  A space for only them, where no one would come looking, where they could talk, kiss, and just _be_ _together_ , freely now, with no walls between them.  A quiet space where they could simply revel in each other.

Han had never imagined using one of the _Falcon’s_ smuggling compartments for this purpose, but settled amongst the pillows and throws with Leia’s legs resting across his lap as he massaged her calves, he had to admit his imagination wasn’t nearly as far-reaching as he’d once sworn to the kid — because this easily surpassed anything he’d ever had the temerity to hope.

Eventually in his passes over her legs, he began to work up the edges of her pants — _his_ pants, since she was in a borrowed pair — to feel the soft skin of her ankle and shin.  His fingers progressively glided up and over, inching the fabric higher and higher, until he finally gave up on subtlety altogether and just pushed the too-big pants up to her knees.

As he stroked the length of one bared leg — once, twice; up and down — then the other — down and back up — his touch set off currents of yearning in her.  The latest pass had his fingers delving beneath the hem again to rub over her kneecap, and all at once she saw what a needless impediment the pants were becoming. 

“I could just take them off?” Leia offered.  Her tone was all affectionate amusement, laced with what sounded like anticipation, and Han looked to her sharply, attention once focused on her legs now absorbed with trying to read her face.  “It — even without them, your shirt is like a dress on me.  A short one, anyway.  It wouldn’t be scandalous.” 

She’d added that last part, he was sure, to ease her own misgivings; he certainly had none, and knew that she knew it.  “Course not,” Han agreed.  “Go for it.”  He was trying to be casual but came off sounding hopeful enough for him to figure it warranted a little justification of his own.  “Y’know, if you _want_.”

Leia looked at him only a second more before withdrawing her legs from his lap to stand up.  He watched her fixedly as she unfastened and began to ease off his pants.  Despite knowing it was all fairly innocent, that didn’t stop the blood from pooling hot in his groin at the sight. 

And, indeed, she didn’t reveal anything as his shirt quickly dropped down into place like the skirt of a dress, just as she’d said.  Still, there was something about her wearing his shirt and nothing else that had a powerfully suggestive quality.  Leia sat down near him, sliding her now fully-bare legs back across his thighs, and that was all it took to instantly reduce him to utter distraction.

Conversation fell off as Han became engrossed in stroking her legs from ankle to the mid-thigh hem of his shirt, up and over the smoothest skin he’d ever felt, _addictive_ in its softness.  He tried — he really did — to stick to her outer leg and thigh, but his touch increasingly skirted toward the inner.

After a quiet spell of tender, heated caresses, it was Leia who broke the silence.  “This feels like that weekend on Wroona last year.”  She didn’t ask if he remembered; she knew there was no way he couldn’t.

“Which part?  Sharing a bottle of Corellian whiskey?” Han mused, reaching down for it on the blankets and passing it over to her.

“That,” she concurred, “and hiding together in a small space….”  She uncorked the bottle of Whyren's Reserve and took a generous drink, a sigh of “Mmm” vibrating from her lips.  All these years later, the delectable woody spice of it continued to delight her tongue, still surprising her anew at how good it truly was.  Recorking it, she observed, “This doesn’t have nearly the view, though.” 

“I don’t know.  View’s pretty good for me,” he smirked, cocking his chin down toward her naked legs draped over his lap, lusciously close to his crotch.

Leia smiled into a laugh, her eyes falling closed in a mixture of enjoying the current moment and the exciting memory they were discussing.  “That weekend….”  She let her head drop back against the wall of the compartment, her nerf-wool covered toes curling into Han’s thigh.  “ _Oh_ , how I wanted to—”

“Jump my bones?” he interposed, waggishly helpful.  “That’s what _I_ wanted to do to you.”

“I wanted to…‘jump you’,” she adopted his phrase, “on the _second_ day — well, that night.”  A grin overtook her at the corresponding thrill tripping through to her core at just its mention.

“Yeah.”  Han tipped his head in lustful acknowledgement, his jaw working at the remembered sensations.  “ _That_ night,” he reiterated, low and seductive.

Leia gave a throaty laugh.  “I _wanted_ you that night, Han, I definitely did.  But the third night, that night, what I wanted was….” 

To be able to keep him forever.  For it to be all right — reciprocated and secure — for her to be in love with him.  To have everything in the galaxy feel as good as it felt in his arms; then there would _be_ no war, only happiness and pleasure…and perhaps a population explosion. 

Not ready to admit that, she settled on, “Well, you know how strongly my ‘Join the Alliance’ pitch started up again after that.”

“You wanted me to stay with you,” Han correctly guessed.  “Sweetheart, waking up with you in my arms….”  He shook his head at the sheer power of the recalled feelings, such a depth of tenderness and love he was still unable to put into words but had experienced again this very morning.  “Wasn’t nothin’ I wanted more than to stay there with you.  Preferably not fighting for our lives, but even that didn’t put much of a damper on it.”

“No, it didn’t,” she agreed, passing him back their Whyren's.  He took a drink himself before resealing the bottle and balancing it to stand on its own in their nest of blankets, freeing his hands up to touch her again.  Each soothing stroke over her skin seemed to ease something inside her, some remaining wall that was gradually crumbling, and she found herself saying, “That was the night I first told you about Winter….” 

It had been difficult, almost unbearably painful, to speak again of her lost best friend and near sister.  Although, no; it wasn’t the speaking so much as the speaking in _past_ tense that had cut to her very soul.  But it had been cathartic too; letting herself feel those memories again, taste them and try them out.  Discovering she was healed enough now to be able to mine the happiness from them.  Gaining the gift of the ability to look back in love and appreciation on times shared, rather than exclusively be inundated with the overwhelming sense of loss in them.  Of course that she had opened up to these memories with _Han_ had certainly helped; that she felt safe with him, cared for by him.  His measured questions and leading responses had comforted and eased her into some sense of closure and a capacity to find the happy amidst the sad, to cling to the preciousness of all that past joy _over_ the agonizing devastation.

Leia smiled as she recalled his gentle proposal at the time.  “I don’t think any of the Rogues would believe that when you offered to be my new confidante you did it without even a _hint_ of innuendo.  You were actually very sweet.” 

“Hm,” Han grunted as he continued to stroke her legs, “doesn’t sound like me.”

“Yes, it does.”  Reaching down, she caught his hand.  “The real you.”  Tenderly twining their fingers against her shin, she dared to add, “The one you let _me_ see.”

She half expected him to deny it but he didn’t, only lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, and then again to the back of her hand.

“It was nice talking about Winter again,” Leia admitted.  “Talking about her at all, really, but also sharing that part of my life with you.” 

Han smiled, squeezing her hand, but made no further, verbal response.  He wanted to give her the space to freely express herself, knowing it was good to get it all out and wanting to do nothing to hinder that flow.

Leia, however, simply saw his contentment to let _her_ share, which both was and wasn’t good.  It was nice — crucial, even — that he wanted to listen and connect with her that way, but she couldn’t be the only one bearing her soul. 

In a preemptive attempt to set his caginess at ease and undercut the gravity of the request she was about to make, Leia reached for the sweesonberry roll, ripping it in two and handing him half as she asked, “Tell me something about when _you_ were young.” 

“You don’t want to hear about that,” Han baulked, finishing off half of his half in one bite.  Her stories were lovely recollections of a happy, nurturing childhood and adolescence.  His troubled youth would only sound twice as seedy in comparison.  “Ain’t nothing good to tell about back then.” 

“Nothing at all?” she gently pressed, biting into her roll in an infinitely more dainty fashion that unwittingly doubled down on Han’s misgivings. 

Leaning into him, she softly ran her free hand over his cheek and down his neck, hoping her touch and tone would soothe him through the triggering topics she was about to introduce — things that were tantamount to Han’s Alderaan.  “What about your mother?”

“Nah.”  He immediately shook his head.  “There’s nothin’ to tell.”

Leia nodded, but there was a careful distinction in her words.  “Nothing you want to tell.”  Yet her voice was empathetic as she continued, “I understand.  I know how difficult it can be to share something like that with—”

“It ain’t that, Sweetheart,” Han stressed.  “I’d _share_ it with you, just don’t think there’s nothing left to say that you don’t already know.  I was young when she died.  Most of the time I had with her was spent in years before you can remember.  What’s left is more a…”  He shook his head again.  “….a feeling of her, not something you can tell.”

He seemed wary of her response to that, of her _belief_ in that, but Leia truly did understand.  In fact, she appreciated that statement in a deep-down way she had never told anyone.  For sometimes in rare moments, in some way she herself couldn’t fathom — as, from what she had been told, she was only a babe mere seconds old at the time of their separation — somehow she seemed to possess a sort of sense memory of _her_ birth mother.

“Well, what about Dewlanna?” she suggested instead.  “Tell me a story of her.”

Han thought for a moment, but came up similarly empty on any one specific tale to relate.  “Can’t say there’s too much to tell there, either.  She taught me Shryiiwook; you already know that.  Taught me first aid and how to use a medkit:  bacta patches, bone-knitters, synthflesh, the works.  She taught me the basics of cooking so I wouldn’t starve.  Most things with Dewlanna were everyday stuff like that, nothing exciting.”

“If there’s nothing ‘good’ to tell, then tell me something bad.  Tell me _something_ , Han,” Leia reiterated, trying not to let frustration seep into her voice.  “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.” 

That got to the heart of it; more than gaining any particular new knowledge of him, what she really wanted was further connection, further building on a familiarity and intimacy exclusive to them.  That was something he could certainly give her.

“Alright, I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone…”  He mulled it over, his eyes suddenly lighting up, and she knew he had found the story.  “I’ll tell you something bad that _turned into_ something good.”

“All right,” she echoed playfully, finishing the last of her sweesonberry roll, “tell me, I can’t wait to hear it.”  She actually was excited to listen.  Simply to have him share another piece of his closely guarded past was enough in itself, and judging by Han’s rare but colorful tales it was sure to be interesting.  “What’s your idea of both bad and good?  And how did —” 

Leia cut off abruptly, her brow crinkling, as she noticed a large smudge of icing left behind on the top of her finger.  “How did one turn into the other?” she finished, sucking her finger clean of the glaze without a second thought.  She only considered the act — and its lewd implications — once she looked up from double checking her now-clean finger to discover Han watching her raptly, the spark of desire unmistakable in his eyes. 

Clearly, watching that had been a turn-on for him.  It was quickly becoming an inadvertent one for her, too.  Though she hadn’t been attempting to bait him, hadn’t intended to be sexy at all, the look he was giving her now, after having witnessed it, was so smoldering Leia was left pleasantly flustered.  Her cheeks flushed hotly in an attractive blush and she closed her eyes with a smile, riding the wave of feeling. 

Finding herself engulfed in a sudden spike of visceral sexual wanting for Han was nothing new.  She’d been dealing with _that_ for years; it had often been the catalyst of some of her more brutal arguments with him.  What was new was no longer needing to tamp down that wanting.  Being able to own it, to welcome and savor the sensations he awakened in her…and maybe even do something about them…still felt revolutionary to Leia, in the very best of ways. 

Opening slightly dazed eyes to him, she asked coyly, “I’m sorry, what was I saying?”

“You wanted to know my idea of good and bad,” Han supplied distractedly, “but never mind about that.”  He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a register.  “I got some of that frosting on me, Sweetheart.  You gonna help me out with it?”

He offered up his forefinger, the very one that had so frequently been pointed at her in moments of heated anger.  But this was a whole different kind of heat, one she found herself suddenly very keen to indulge.  Looking from his eyes to his finger and back to his eyes again, she held his gaze as she bent and slowly licked up the length of his finger.  She left the tip of it to rest a moment on the soft warmth of her lower lip, and then she took it between them. 

The hot wetness of her mouth surrounding him, the pressing pull of suction, and her velvet tongue curling around his finger as she sucked him clean of the barest hint of sweet icing lingering on his skin combined to nearly overwhelm Han. 

“ _God, Leia_ ,” spilled from his lips, more a husky stilted gasp than actual words.  He reached for her, wanted nothing more in the galaxy than to kiss her — _devour_ her — but she dodged away. 

“Mm-mm, Flyboy,” she denied him with a smirk.  “There will be none of that.  _Yet_.  You were telling me a story.”

Rebuffed though he was, there was no ache of denial in it; Leia’s playful, teasing enticement was nearly as gratifying as her mouth on his would have been.  “Fine,” he assented with an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh.  “Anything Her Worship wants Her Worship gets.  I’ll give you your story.  But first, I need you to give me a kiss to tide me over…Just a little one,” he cajoled, all pitten-eyed and sweetly beseeching.

She knew his overblown inveigling was all a part of their game — put-on for _her_ , likely with the intention of making her laugh — but it actually worked to great effect, making her want to give him anything he asked.  “You can have a kiss,” Leia easily relented.  Moving in closer, she murmured a tantalizing warning a mere breath away from his lips.  “But with closed mouths and hands to yourself.  I’m getting that story out of you before you use your charms to distract me.”

“You were…”  Han kissed her.  “…using yours…”  Another kiss.  “…to distract me…”  And another.  “…so…”  A longer kiss.  “…turnabout…is…fair play,” he finished between nibbles of her lips. 

Just when he had her reaching for him, ready to forget the story entirely, he abruptly pulled back.  Leia’s eyes flew open in frustration. 

“Now where was I?” he calmly inquired.  “Oh yeah, my good and bad story.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, biting back a smile.  “You’re a wicked man, Han Solo….”

He gestured toward himself innocently.  “I’m sorry, did you _not_ want to hear it?  ‘Cos we can go back to just sharing the whiskey,” he offered, brows disingenuously raised over eyes awash in amusement, even as he made a show of looking around the blanket for where they’d left the bottle.

“Not on your life, Hotshot,” she commanded, turning his chin back to face her.  “There’s no way you’re getting out of telling the story now.”   

Han grinned.  “Alright, strap in, then.”

It was Leia’s turn to make a show, one of getting comfortable, as she stretched her legs out further across him — in the process, unintentionally ghosting a creamy bare leg over his groin, eliciting a low groan from Han. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” she announced.

“Yeah, so am I.” 

He reached for her, and now _she_ was the one to pull back. 

“Ah-ah, your story,” she chided.

“And _who’s_ the wicked one here?” Han glibly grumbled before giving in and divulging, “It was during the time I was working for Shrike.  That son of a bitch had a real power trip.  Used to wear this ridiculous outfit he made up for himself, tryin’ to look like a Moff, tryin’ to act like he was big shit when really he wasn’t no more than the rest of us.  Just outcast, criminal, bantha fodder from the same Blue Sector Coronetti slums.”

Gone was the playfulness of moments before; though he tried to mask it, Leia could tell Han was becoming increasingly agitated as he spoke, as he recalled the man who had terrorized him in his youth.  She took advantage of their continued nearness to reclaim a hold on his hand. 

“I’d just turned thirteen,” he went on, and she began softly playing at his fingers, hoping her touch would both calm and encourage him to keep going.  “Gettin’ to be one of the older ones in the group.  Most kids ran away by the time they made it to fifteen, sixteen at the most.  Ran away or died trying,” he amended acidly.  “Shrike wasn’t exactly keen on lettin’ all that training go to waste.”

When Han saw what looked suspiciously like horror in Leia’s eyes, he averted his and hurried on with, “Anyway, we were on Broest, takin’ a break from our regular Treasure Ship Row beat ‘cos the SAC was having its annual ruica festival.  Lots of people packed in, looking to blow off some steam, spend a pile of credits.  Too absorbed in the rides and games and food stands to pay attention to their surroundings, ‘specially some punk kid.  A whole gang of ‘em could bring in a pretty sum on an afternoon like that.  And you better believe we were expected to.” 

Leia had said nothing before, not wanting to interrupt now that she had him talking, but at this she bristled.  “I realize the man was unscrupulous, but how could he have reasonably expected any specific amount when you could never know who or what you would encounter?  For instance, what if it rained?  What if it wasn’t busy that day?  What if the festival had to close early?  Any of that would be entirely beyond your control.”

“Shrike didn’t much care what was or wasn’t in our control.  We all had quotas to make, no exceptions.  If we didn’t, we’d get our hides tanned.  So I was followin’ orders, picking pockets,” Han recounted.  “Anything of value, I’d take, mostly stuff I could pawn.  By mid-day, I’d gotten lucky a few times and built up a decent cache of chips and coins.  Then —”  He lifted his eyebrows in emphasis.  “— I hit it big.  Managed to swipe a _two thousand_ credit chip off this old broad.  Real snooty lookin’ thing with a temperament to match, like a female Dodonna.”

Leia tried to suppress a laugh at his mockery — no matter how well-deserved — of her fellow Command member and it came out as a little snort instead.  Han grinned, running his hand up from her ankle to give her an affectionate squeeze just above the knee. 

“Figured I had it made after that,” he continued his story.  “Figured with a payload that big Shrike wouldn’t even mind if I used a bit of my earnings to get myself a fried kaadu and ruica crispic.  Course I wasn’t gonna _tell_ him about the little detour,” he added with a mischievous smirk.  “So there I am, heading to the fried crispic stand, takin’ the back way over by the row of garbage receptacles just in case Lady Dodonna was missing her credit chip, and I happen upon this kid — couldn’t’ve been more than three or four — picking through one of the trash bins.” 

“Oh, Han,” Leia recoiled, more gut reaction than intended speech.  Of all the things she’d seen, all the horrors of war she’d witnessed and violence she’d wrought herself, it was always most difficult to see the suffering of younglings:  war orphans and poor, innocent children left behind.

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded in grim agreement.  “That kinda thing’s the worst of it….” 

Leia had long been aware that Han felt the same as she did in that regard.  She easily perceived it in his interactions with the children they happened upon on various missions in burnt-out villages and slums.  But he said nothing further; they both knew there was nothing _to_ say, nothing to ease the atrocities the Empire had wrought.  Wasn’t that exactly why they were fighting this war?

“And when I call to him,” Han picked up the narrative again, “thinking I could spare enough to buy him a crispic, too, the kid starts crying — I mean, _wailing_ _bloody murder_.  I was tall for my age and he was just a little thing; turns out, he thought I was a seccer come to lock him up.  When he found out I wasn’t, the kid was so relieved the whole story pours out of him:  tells me his ma died — not too long ago by the sound of it — and he and his sister are living on the streets now; he hasn’t had anything to eat in he can’t remember how long — two days, maybe three or four.  It gets me to thinkin’:  Shrike don’t need another decoration for his Moff getup, and he sure as hell don’t need another blaster or vibroknife to threaten us with.  So I gave the credit chip to the kid.”

Han simply shrugged as if what he’d just revealed was no big — as if it _wasn’t_ an incredibly brave, gallant, and noble thing to do, one that left her nearly speechless.  “ _You didn’t_ ,” she uttered breathlessly, making good on her earlier statement that she couldn’t wait to hear the tale; she was positively hanging on his every word.

Leia’s voice was soft as she said it.  Her eyes were soft, too, but unreadable.  It left Han unable to tell if her exclamation was meant as praise or censure at his folly.  “I figured the kid’d make better use of it,” he rationalized, “and Shrike would never know I’d ever had it.”

“Were you able to make your quota without it, then?” she wondered sympathetically.

“Made my quota and more.”  Leia watched as darkness, some remembered pain, swept over Han’s features.  “But somehow, Shrike found out about the credit chip — that bastard had eyes everywhere, I swear — and it led to the worst beating of my life.  Till the day I met Chewie,” Han adjoined, not as a brag but an afterthought, the beating near to death insignificant and all but forgotten in light of the friend it left him with. 

“I won’t sugarcoat it:  it was bad,” he darkly detailed.  “It was bad all over, hardly a centim of me that wasn’t bruised, but the worst was that Shrike caught me with that damned Devaronian blood-poison ring of his, square in the eye.  I couldn’t open it for three days, couldn’t see out of it even then.  Dewlanna was afraid he’d blinded the eye, but my sight came back little-by-little a couple days later.  So…that’s what happened.”  Han finished the story and said no more, meeting her eyes squarely and steeling himself for her reaction.

“Han…that’s…”  Leia hardly knew what to say in the face of such an account, and in her lack of composure the bald truth came tumbling from her lips.  “That’s horrible.” 

Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears, he was certain of disgust, but Han didn’t blame her for being rightly put-off by the ugly realities of his sordid upbringing.

“And — _wonderful_ ,” she finished, her voice breaking, “all at once.”

He hardly believed his ears.  “What?” 

“I said, that’s wonderful.  What you did was _wonderful_.”

Han could only consider her in guarded — though rapidly increasing — hope.

….Leia _wasn’t_ appalled?  She wasn’t revolted by the dysfunction of the gutters he’d pulled himself up from? 

His mind reeled trying to digest this revelation.  _She ought to be_ , was the only thing he could think.  Yet, she seemed to find beauty in it, where he saw nothing but degradation and shame.

“And you called yourself a mercenary,” she tenderly _tsked_ , a beaming smile lighting her face as she shuffled closer until she was all but in his lap.  “Han Solo, you are a _hero_.  You always have been, don’t you see it?  It’s in your blood just the same as it’s in Luke’s.” 

She grinned with pride and love at the inside joke:  how Han loved to annoy Luke about being “the Hero of the Death Star”.  _All_ I _did was show up at the last minute to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed._   How many times had she heard Han say that?  And all the while, through his oft-repeated jabs that were really poorly concealed praise — _They raise ‘hero’ into your blood on those moisture farms, eh, Kid?_ — Han had that very same ‘hero’ in _him_.  All along.  Every bit as much.  Apparently, from childhood. 

“That certainly did turn bad into good,” Leia gushed.  “Why haven’t you told me that story before?  It might have gotten you kissed a whole lot sooner.”

“Yeah?” Han slyly replied, dipping his voice low.  “Well, it ain’t too late to still earn me—”

Leia evidently agreed, for she’d wrapped her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his before he could even finish. 

With a little hum of pleasure and one last glide of her tongue over his, she pulled back to ask, “I don’t suppose you ever found out what happened to the little boy?”

“Suppose I did,” he crowed; _this_ was a definitely a brag.  “That’s where the ‘good’ comes in.”

“Giving him the credits wasn’t the ‘good’?” she asked incredulously.  “That, alone, wasn’t enough for you?  Why you _are_ the hero, aren’t you, Captain?” Leia purred, running her fingers through his hair.

“Heroics really get you going, huh, Princess?” Han teased suggestively.  “What’ll I get if I steal you a whole Star Destroyer?”

“Oh, I think I could manage another public ceremony.”  He grunted in disappointment she’d anticipated, and she gave a throaty giggle.  “And then, maybe afterwards…”  She ran her hands down his chest, bringing her lips just shy of his and her voice to a honeyed, heated tone.  “…a more _private_ celebration.”

The corner of Han’s mouth quirked up in intrigue, into that irresistible half-smile of his that made her insides do that melty-quivery thing he alone could cause and answer.  “Then I just might have to find you one….But don’t go pinning any more medals on me just yet, Sweetheart.”  He leaned in to steal a quick kiss.  “Wait’ll you hear the ‘good’,” Han portended with a reprobate wink.

She rolled her eyes with an affectionate smirk.  “All right, Hotshot, what did you do?”  

“Why do you make it sound like _I_ must’ve done somethin’?”  he asked, pretending offense.

“Oh, I don’t know:  your temperament, your own boasts, three years of experience with you,” she listed on her fingers.  “Take your pick.”

“You’re a real smartass, you know that, Highness?” Han chuckled.  “And this time you’re wrong.  I didn’t do anything; it’s what happened _to_ me.  Soon as I could see again, Shrike sent me back out to work.  Now, it’s the last day of the festival, and this time the kid seeks _me_ out.  And who should come with him but his much older, much more _developed_ ,” he put in meaningfully, making a swooping gesture over his chest, “sister.  Had to have been somewhere between thirteen and sixteen — it’s hard to tell sometimes with girls — which made me feel a lot better about the kid’s chances.  So she thanks me for helping them out, says she’s gonna use the credits to book them passage to Xorth where they have kin.  Between the credits and the beating I’d obviously taken for it — didn’t hurt that my eye still looked like nerf steak — she’s so grateful, she leads me behind that same row of trash receptacles and gives me my very first hand—” 

Han abruptly cut himself off, realizing only in the moment that this might not have been the best story to tell her.  “—dy,” he tried to recover.  “Yeah.  She was real _handy_ for the kid to have around.”

“Mm-hmm,” Leia replied knowingly but without any real irritation at the hijinks of Young Han.

“What about you?” he quickly changed the subject.  “You got any more stories?”

“Something bad that turned into good, you mean?”

“Sure.”  He didn’t really care what she told him as long as it got her distracted enough not to think too hard about his story — not hard enough to figure out what he himself was just now putting together:  that his thirteen-year-old self had unwittingly engaged in a sort of prostitution; he gave out a credit chip and, in turn, received a sexual favor from a nameless girl behind some dumpsters.

“I do have an example of that,” Leia pronounced brightly, her thoughts far from Han’s self-reproachful ones.  “I was a few years younger than you were in your story — and, sorry to disappoint, but this didn’t lead to my first ‘handy’,” she slipped in wittily. 

“What did?” he couldn’t help asking….you know, as long as they were telling tales.

“I’m still waiting on that one,” she disclosed.

Last night, Han had been hesitant to broach what could be a delicate subject, but ‘virgin’ still left room open for other things.  However, this appeared to have answered that question.  Going by what she’d just told him, it seemed unlikely that any experience she’d had went much further than kissing.  “Well, anytime you’re ready, Princess, you got a standing offer.”

There was a time such a comment would have prompted a shouting match loud enough to alert the entire base, leading to a fresh round of _Kiss or Kill_ bets and the potential of being lectured, yet again, by High Command.  Now though, she took no offense.  Any past ‘offense’ had merely been a product of the suggestion’s secret appeal.  There was no need for such secrets now, and the very genuine offer was met only with very genuine appeal, even if she wasn’t yet ready to take him up on it.  “I’ll remember that.  No, my story is almost sickeningly innocent, but I love it, nonetheless:  my story is about Alderaan.”

“Then _I’m_ gonna love it,” he avowed.  “I love the look you get when you talk about Alderaan.”

“Do I look a certain way?” she asked, surprised.

“You do,” Han nodded.  “At first, you didn’t talk much about it at all, and when you did, the look you had was just sad and…haunted, kinda look that could tear a guy apart.  I _hated_ seeing that look on your face; not being able to do a damn thing to make it better.  But now, more and more, when you talk about something or someone, or just the land or your home back on Alderaan, you get this sort of serene look, like someone thinkin’ back on a really good dream — only this dream was _real_ , and you lived it and you loved it.  Makes me happy that _you_ can feel happy about that again.”

His words set off fresh tears in her eyes, and Leia reached up to cup his cheek in her hand.  “That makes me happy, too,” she whispered, kissing him tenderly. 

Han held her closer but he broke the kiss to say, “Aw, come on now, Amant, don’t let me distract you.  Tell me your story of Alderaan.  I want to hear it.”

“ _Amant_?” she questioned.

“Sweetheart, in Olys,” he shrugged.

“I like that.  _That_ earned you the story,” she beamed, nuzzling her nose against his.  “It all began when my father took me on one of our trips into the mountains.  We would hike and then ski back down; it was a beloved pastime of ours.  Walking amongst the tall blooming gingerbells at the base of the Triplehorns, with the sweet scent from the nearby t'iil meadow carrying on the air, never got old.  ‘Picturesque’ was an understatement there, but it wasn’t the scenery that captured our attention that day.  You see, I’d scampered ahead of my father, as usual, and just beneath the snowline I happened upon an injured giant thranta.  She was huge, even then, but she was little more than an infant.  It broke my heart to see her suffering and it broke my father’s heart to see mine, so he agreed to let me adopt her and nurse her back to health.  I named her Sarna.  Father had her brought back home where I could visit her every single day.  We had to have a special stable built just to house her.  Naturally, she was frightened by it all in the beginning, especially around the others, but I was somehow able to calm her and let her know that she was safe…It was just my presence, I suppose, the one who’d rescued her, but the stablehands marveled at it, took to affectionately calling me the thranta whisperer; it was a title I rather liked.  Around my lessons and duties, I always found time to be with Sarna and took a personal hand in the treatment of her wounded tail lobe and wing — with the assistance of the royal vets, because despite what you think, I don’t claim to know _everything_.”

“Pretty kriffin’ close though, Princess.  And rightly so.  Ain’t hardly a damn thing you _don’t_ know.  Course if you repeat that to the Rogues, I’ll deny I ever said it.  Luke, I’ll admit it to; suspect he already knows.”

Leia laughed softly, adjusting her arms to loop loosely about his neck.  “Whatever the reason, Sarna was well again in what seemed like no time.  And as she grew, and as we further bonded, my father was wise enough to know what was coming next.”

“You wanted to ride her,” Han ventured.

“I wanted to ride her,” she confirmed with an impish smile.  “Now, my mother was very much against the idea of me riding a _wild_ thranta, particularly one who had never been ridden before.  My father wasn’t in love with the idea either, but he was there the day we first found each other.  He said he could feel our connection and knew she would never hurt me — in fact, would do her best to _protect_ me — and, therefore, I would be safer aboard Sarna than any other thranta, wild or tame.  He said we were kindred spirits, orphaned and in need of help; that we recognized it in each other.”

“So you rode her,” he guessed, though it wasn’t a guess at all.  In his experience nothing, not even the Emperor himself, outstripped the determination of Leia Organa.

“I did.  Every day I was on planet, without fail.  And I become quite the accomplished rider, if I do say so myself.”  The memories were staggeringly happy ones that filled Leia with love and gratitude for her lost thranta, for the privilege of such an idyllic childhood, and for the chance to have experienced the peaceful beauty of such a heavenly planet. 

“I rode everywhere:  about the Castle Lands, through the Glarus Valley, above Aldera and around the Royal Palace.  But my very favorite, without question, was Cloudshape Falls.  I loved to fly over and beside them,” she reminisced, closing her eyes to picture it.  “Sarna preferred our flights over the Triplehorn peaks where she was born, but she indulged my love of the Falls — she fed off my excitement, I think.  We would swoop down together, close enough to feel the cool spray on our skin.”

Han shook his head in veneration, similarly picturing it and awed by what he imagined.  “You must’ve looked somethin’ glorious up there; a tiny powerhouse, soarin’ over snowcapped mountains in your little white dresses and cinnamon buns.” 

Leia’s gentle, fond laughter pulled him from his reverie to appreciate her in the here and now.  “Usually my hair broke free in the wind,” she corrected his visualization.  “And I didn’t only ride as a young girl, you know.  Thrantas have a long lifespan.  Mine would still be alive now if it weren’t for —” 

Leia stopped short; she had never grown used to saying it out loud, avoided it altogether if she possibly could.  “I still rode her, right up to the end.  But not with senatorial robes flapping in the breeze, thank you.  I said I was an _accomplished_ rider, and any rider would tell you that to do so in a dress would have been ill-advised.  I always rode in a bodysuit.”

“Even better,” Han enthused.  “Fully grown Leia, gliding through the sky in a skintight bodysuit, hair whipping long and free behind you?  Must’ve looked like you were flying naked.  You would’ve looked a _goddess_ up there.”

“Father said so,” she granted.  “Of course, not for the reasons I’m sure you’re picturing.”

His smirk tilted suggestively and Han skated long, pleasantly rough fingers up and down her bare leg.  “You put the picture in my head, so it’s your fault.”

“We’ve already established that _you’re_ the scoundrel, so any lustful thoughts are your own fault,” she shot back archly.

“That so, Worship?  And you ain’t never had any ‘lustful’ thoughts of me?” he countered, all cheeky, reprobate charm.  “What was Wroona?  We just established that, too, Sweetheart.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Leia gasped laughingly as he dipped his face into the crock of her neck to nip at her skin.

“And you’re sexy; facts are just facts.”  He burrowed his mouth down into the open collar of his shirt that was now hers, but seemed to remember himself and lifted his head again.  “Back to your thranta:  your father agreed you were a goddess up there; that mean he watched you ride a lot?”

“He enjoyed the mountains — perhaps more even than Sarna — so we often went up together, which included riding.  He tried to be supportive.  Both of my parents did,” she stressed, not wishing to do Breha any injustice, “but my mother never truly came around to the idea of me riding, even all those years later.”

“Figure you spent most of your time with your dad as you got older, considering your career choice.  Were you more like him, then?”

“I don’t know that I’d say that…Since I was adopted, there’s no genetic reason for me to favor either one of them.  But I’ve always believed nurture to be far more powerful than nature,” she added introspectively.

Leia knew nothing of her biological parents — hadn’t been told anything of her biological father, only that her biological mother had died shortly after giving birth — and although she bore them no ill-will, she found it impossible to believe that such beings she had never and would never meet could have left more of an impact on her by their simple act of procreation than the mother and father who lovingly raised her.

“It’s easier to draw comparisons between my father and myself — what with our both having gone into politics, serving in the Senate, becoming leaders in the Alliance,” she further reflected, “but I think my mother contributed a great deal to who I am, as well.”

“She certainly did contribute,” Han couldn’t resist quipping, referring to their conversation the night before and all that Leia had told him about her mother’s frank encouragements of erotic explorations.

“Not just the part _you_ like,” she admonished amiably.  “Though, yes, I suppose that’s an important part of who I am.  In a larger sense, my mother showed me how to successfully navigate being a powerful woman without succumbing to the stereotypes or relying on a crutch of my femininity.  She taught me how to project my intelligence, strength, and authority as qualities _independent_ of my sexuality — while still being free to own my sexuality.  That’s something my father never could have imparted since it’s something men don’t have to deal with in the first place.  And she instilled plenty of other, non-gender specific qualities:  the importance of unencumbered knowledge and education; to act with wisdom; not only to have courage but how to gain it.  She had just as much of an impact on who I am,” Leia concluded with a decisive nod.

“Well, I like all those parts, too,” Han asserted as he brought his mouth to hers.  He ran his fingers down a handful of her hair even as he ended the kiss, excited to make what he hoped would be a new revelation to her.  “And, Leia, I might even have a surprise for you.”

“Oh yeah?” she grinned, fingers playing at his vest.

“A tibanna gas mining colony ain’t much like Alderaan....but they do have thrantas in Bespin.” 

Leia said nothing, didn’t move an inch, merely gaped at him in utter shock until she was finally able to string words together again.  “You’re serious?

“Very,” he confirmed with a grin.  “Haven’t seen it for myself, mind, but that’s what they say — and thrantas did show up in the file for Cloud City, so I take that as confirmation.”

“I’d heard the species had survived somewhere but I had no idea it’s where we’re going now.  Do you think we’ll get to see some while we’re there?” she asked with poignantly hopeful eyes that melted his heart faster than a block of ice left out under Tatooine’s twin suns. 

“If you want to, Sweetheart, I’ll make sure of it.”

Her eyes gleaming bright, Leia gave him a quick kiss.  Then, with an alluring smile and eyes locked on his, she slowly leaned back to lay her spine flat against the floor of the smuggling compartment and crooked her finger at him in a come-hither gesture. 

Han smirked, for once, eager to follow this particular command.  “What’ve you got in mind, Princess?” he asked, lifting her legs off his lap to come stretch out beside her on the blankets. 

“That first day of our trip, I lied.”  She rolled onto her side to face him, setting her open palm to his abs, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt as she ran her hand up the length of his chest to curl over his shoulder.  “Being held by you is more than enough to get me excited,” Leia confessed, prompting a smile from Han and his hand to settle at her waist.  “In fact, that’s always been the problem.”

He turned his body into hers, letting his hand glide down the curve of her hip.  “I don’t see it as a problem.”

“I’m beginning to come around to your way of thinking,” she murmured invitingly.  Her fingers found their way up into his hair and she leaned in, clutching at a handful at the nape of his neck as she played her tongue over his bottom lip, then inside his mouth, then over his tongue. 

As their kiss grew increasingly passionate, Leia allowed instinct to guide her.  Using a hand at Han’s hip to pull herself flush against him, she gave herself over to the feeling of his soft, warm mouth; the solid strength of his body pressed intimately to hers; the gentle but delicious friction of her breasts brushing his firm chest. 

Han, in turn, slid his hand heatedly down her thigh until he found bare skin to stroke and stimulate with calloused fingertips.  When that became both too much yet not enough, Leia moved her lips from his to explore over his jawline in a trail of hungry kiss that eventually would have led to his ear…or neck…perhaps down his throat — the possibilities were endless, and she had years’ worth of imagining of each to catch up to — but their amorous interlude was abruptly disrupted by a loud Wookiee growl aimed down at them.

Save for the pop of suction that was her mouth parting from his skin, the compartment was completely still, the two of them frozen in mid-embrace.  Leia was the first to speak.  “It was muffled through the panels, so I may not have heard correctly, but did Chewbacca just say that—”

“He didn’t detect the sounds or smells of mating, so he felt free to interrupt?” Han supplied, aggravation dripping from his tone.  “Yeah, he said it.”

Leia’s widened eyes went to his and she bit her lip, suppressing a giggle.  Until she remembered her bareness.  Then her hand flew down to her naked legs and, at once, she scrambled up and out of Han’s arms.  “I better put my pants on.”

“So much for hiding places…” Han sighed, cursing the relative smallness of the ship.  Hauling himself up, resigned to the fact that their romantic alone-time was at an end, he mused, “At least it isn’t Goldenrod this time.”

* * *

 

 


End file.
